m 


Q  ^ 
O  -w 


The  Forerunner 


$1.50 


The\  Folly  of 
Others 

Illustrated,  $1.00 


THE    ETERNAL    SPRING 


'  You  are  exactly  like  a  Lippo  Lippi  Madonna — how  won- 
derful!"' 


THE 

ETERNAL 
SPRING 


A  Novel 


Author  of 
"The  Forerunner,"  "The  Folly  of  Others,"  Etc. 

Illustrations  by  Blendon  Campbell 


NEW     YORK 

FOX  DUFFIELD   &   COMPANY 

1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
Fox,  DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 

Published  January,  1906 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

La  Fontaneila 

PART  II 

The  Hills 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

' '  *  You  are  exactly  like  a  Lippo  Lippi  Ma- 
donna— how  wonderful! '  FRONTISPIECE 

FACING   PAGE 

"  Elizabeth  suddenly  bent  down  and  plunged 
her  hands  into  the  wafer"  j6 

"  Clara  stood  by  the  piano,  looking  over  a 
heap  of  loose  music  "  2OO 

"  Glancing  back,  he  saw  her  waver  ana  sink 
down  again  upon  the  rock,"  318 

"  She  walked  about  in  the  dimmer  atmos- 
phere of  the  room,  and  he  heard  her  sigh 
heavily"  376 

;  'Do  you   think   we're   too   happy  ?'    she 
asked  after  a  moment  in  a  hush  :d  voice"  400 


THE  ETERNAL  SPRING 


CHAPTER  I 

CARLETON  found  her,  as  he  had  expected, 
at  the  Stazione  Centrale,  standing  on  the 
platform,  a  little  out  of  the  crowd,  waiting 
for  him  to  come  to  her.  He  saw  her  first;  saw  her 
bright,  veiled,  eager  look  as  she  glanced  over  the 
incoming  passengers,  saw  her  start  toward  him  and 
smile. 

"It's  really  you?"  she  said  in  a  breathlessly 
quiet  tone,  and  the  smile  flickered  on  her  mouth, 
which  was  never  two  moments  the  same. 

As  the  best  answer,  Carleton  held  her  hand  and 
looked  at  her.  His  deep-set  blue  eyes  glowed  with 
pleasure.  Apparently  he  was  willing  to  stand  just 
there,  holding  her  hand  and  looking  at  her,  indefi- 
nitely. Mrs.  Craven  made  the  move;  and,  the 
matter  of  baggage  having  been  disposed  of,  took 
him  out  to  her  carriage.  Damiano,  the  old  coach- 


The  Eternal  Spring 

man  with  the  humorous  Irish  face,  had  a  smil- 
ing salute  of  recognition  for  him.  And  as  the 
victoria  rolled  on  into  the  mesh  of  narrow  stone 
lanes  which  are  Florentine  streets,  it  carried  Carle- 
ton  into  a  labyrinth  of  pleasant  memories — a  flash 
here,  an  enchanting  glimpse  there;  the  city  her- 
self seemed  to  salute  him  with  smiling  remem- 
brance. 

His  Florentine  past,  in  which  Elizabeth  Craven 
was  so  much  concerned,  revived  in  silence  rather 
than  in  speech.  After  the  first  few  words  there 
was  a  pause.  Mrs.  Craven,  leaning  a  little  away 
from  him  in  her  corner  of  the  seat,  watched  him  in 
the  silence  that  implied  that  past.  She  was  giving 
him  time  for  his  impression.  She  waited  for  him 
to  speak.  And  this  struck  Carleton  at  once  as  an 
unexpected  change  that  the  five  years  had  made  in 
her.  But  she,  too,  was  noting  changes.  Each  of 
them,  after  the  first  welcome  to  the  known,  was 
taking  account  of  the  unknown. 

"  At  last !  "   Carleton  said  with  a  quick  sigh. 

He  was  looking  at  her  as  he  spoke ;  but  beyond 
her  he  saw  also  the  Duomo  and  the  Tower,  set  flat 
there  on  the  city  pavement,  in  that  casual,  uncon- 

4 


The  Eternal  Spring 

cerned  way  that  had  always  been  half  their  beauty 
to  him — and  his  words  were  partly  for  them  and 
all  they  represented. 

"  Yes,  it  was  time,"  she  said,  smiling  tremu- 
lously. "  How  old  we  have  grown !  " 

"  *  We  ?  '  No,  not  you.  How  could  you  grow 
old?  But  I  have  been  through  the  mill.  I  have 
been  ground  to  powder.  Don't  you  keep  Medea's 
caldron  somewhere  in  your  hills?  Can't  I  be  put 
in  overnight  and  boiled  young  again?  " 

"  We'll  see  what  we  can  do  for  you,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Craven,  studying  him.  "  Yes,  you've  been 
through  the  mill.  That  horrible  America !  To 
devour  you  whole  in  five  years !  " 

Carleton  took  off  his  hat,  to  reveal  the  extent  of 
the  devastation. 

"Yes,  actually  you  are,  a  little!"  she  sighed. 
"  And  see  my  grey  hairs." 

Carleton  shook  his  head.  There  were  a  few  in 
her  red-brown  tresses — her  main  beauty — but,  as 
she  knew  well  enough,  they  were  invisible  from  his 
distance.  She  mentioned  them,  as  she  had  dis- 
dained the  illusion  of  a  veil;  the  print  of  time  was 
certain  to  be  discovered,  and  she  meant  to  start 

5 


The  Eternal  Spring 

fair,  with  nothing  to  be  scored  up  later.  She  wore, 
however,  a  drooping  lace  hat,  and  the  time  was 
after  seven  in  the  evening.  In  the  old,  crowded 
streets,  through  which  Damiano  drove  rapidly, 
with  a  superb  disregard  of  scurrying  foot-passen- 
gers, it  was  already  twilight;  when  they  came  out 
into  the  newer  quarter,  and  then  beyond  the  walls 
into  the  country,  the  air  was  warm,  and  golden, 
and  kind. 

Carleton  looked  about  him  with  delight. 

"  It  is  just  the  same,"  he  said.  "  At  least,  if 
there  are  changes  I  don't  see  them,  don't  wish  to 
see  them.  Essentially  there  can't  be  any  change. 
That's  what  I've  counted  on  in  coming  back — 
something  complete,  finished,  perfect — rest  for 
one's  soul,  and  '  quiet  breathing.'  It's  *  the  Last 
Refuge,'  "  he  quoted,  laughing. 

"  Ah,  how  you  have  grown  old !  You  were  not 
looking  for  a  last  refuge  when  you  were  here 
before!" 

"  I  meant  to  come  back  here.  It's  true  I  meant 
to  come  sooner  than  I  have  done — and  not  quite 
such  a  wreck.  But  once  caught  in  the  machinery 

over  there " 

6 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  I  know.  But  who  would  have  thought  you 
ambitious — capable  of  being  caught !  " 

"Ambitious  I  never  was.  Being  caught  is — a 
matter  of  surplus  energy  and  the  opinion  of  the 
community.  You're  too  little  of  an  American  now 
to  understand.  And  I  want  to  forget  that  I  ever 
understood  it.  I've  lost  not  only  my  surplus 
energy,  but  all  except  barely  enough  to  keep  me 
together.  I'm  an  empty  shell  that  the  sea  has  cast 
at  your  feet!  " 

"  Then  I'll  keep  you  for  the  sake  of  the  interest- 
ing creature  that  once  abode  in  you — and  for  old 
times'  sake,"  said  Mrs.  Craven. 

Her  eyes — gold-brown,  wide-spaced,  and  water- 
clear — seemed  still  not  to  have  finished  their  sur- 
vey. They  were  expressive  eyes,  and  they  showed 
concern  that  was  almost  alarm,  as  in  the  brighter 
light  she  saw  the  faded  pallor  of  Carleton's  brown 
face,  and  his  lankness.  His  clothes  hung  on  his  big 
frame  with  a  suggestion  of  nothing  much  but  bones 
under  them.  And  the  sub-structure  of  his  face, 
always  very  evident,  was  now  painfully  so,  in 
cheek-bones  and  jaw,  and  about  his  eyes.  He 
seemed  to  have  got  down  to  the  absolute  essentials 

7 


The  Eternal  Spring 

of  physical  being.  But  these  essentials  had  a  good 
deal  of  body,  and  looked  durable.  He  looked  like 
an  over-trained  athlete — powerful  and  useless. 
All  his  remaining  vitality  seemed  concentrated  in 
his  eyes,  of  a  peculiarly  vivid  colour  and  intensity., 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  you  were  ill !  " 

"  I'm  not — but  only  promised  to  be,  if  I  kept 
on  in  harness.  They  promised  me  nervous  pros- 
tration. I  pretended  to  think  I  had  it,  anyway, 
and  pulled  out.  I  really  am  rather  useless.  It  isn't 
treating  you  very  well,  I  know.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  warned  you " 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured,  her  eyes  and  hands  busy 
with  a  small  parasol,  which  she  half-raised  and  then 
put  down  again. 

Carleton  understood  her.  The  nervous  gesture, 
the  sudden  plaintive  compression  of  her  lips,  were 
like  her  old  self.  They  meant  that  the  sensitive 
and  self-distrustful  creature  had  been  hurt,  and  he 
knew  how.  But  he  looked  at  her  quietly.  There 
would  be  time  enough  to  explain  himself. 

'  There's  one  thing  that  might  have  been  differ- 
ent," she  said  with  a  little  effort.  "  There  are 
some  people  at  the  house." 

8 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  of  course — there  always  would  be !  " 
Carleton  smiled. 

"  But  they  are  here  for  a  long  visit — as  long  as 
I  stay — till  it  gets  hot.  They  are  relatives  of  Mr. 
Craven." 

"  Oh,  relatives " 

"  It  isn't  as  bad  as  it  sounds,  though.  They  are 
very,  very  distant  cousins — I  suppose  you'd  hardly 
count  the  relationship  at  all;  but,  you  see,  they  are 
Southerners — that  is,  the  family.  However,  they 
needn't  bother  you  in  the  least.  They're  quite  civil- 
ised— oh,  you'll  see !  "  She  broke  off  and  laughed. 

"  Whether  I  shall  bother  them  is  the  question. 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  pretend  to  any  '  life-enhancing  ' 
qualities  at  present — if  I  ever  had  them." 

They  smiled  at  the  old,  familiar  phrase. 

"  Ah,  we  shall  get  on,"  said  Mrs.  Craven.  "  If 
you  don't  like  one  another,  the  place  is  big  enough. 
Only  if  I'd  known  earlier  that  you  were  coming 
I  wouldn't  have  asked  them." 

"  You  haven't  said  who  or  what  '  they  '  are." 

'  They  '  are  Mrs.  Langham  and  her  daughter. 
I  am  very  fond  of  the  girl.  They've  lived  about 
over  here  for  many  years — in  fact,  since  Clara  was 

9 


The  Eternal  Spring 

a  baby.  But  I  never  saw  them  till  lately,  for  there 
was  a — family  quarrel  between  Mrs.  Langham 
and  Mr.  Craven." 

It  was  the  second  time  Elizabeth  had  spoken  her 
husband's  name;  but  Carleton  found  it  as  difficult 
to  speak  of  him  or  of  her  widowhood  as  it  had 
been  to  write  to  her,  two  years  ago,  the  letter  that 
could  not  be  exactly  condolence.  He  had  written 
the  letter,  but  with  the  same  feeling  of  awkward- 
ness that  now  hindered  his  speech. 

"  You  have  had  much  to  go  through — in  these 
last  years,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  Mr.  Craven's 
illness " 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth  briefly.  "  And  I've  been 
lonely.  .  .  .  But  we  won't  talk  of  that 


now." 


Elizabeth  was  sincere,  and  conventional.  She 
wouldn't  say  that  she  regretted  the  death  of  her 
husband — nor  that  she  did  not  regret  it. 

It  struck  Carleton  suddenly  that  she  was  dressed 
in  what  he  had  heard  ladies  call  half-mourning — a 
long,  pale-grey  coat  and  dress,  with  black  for  the 
only  relief.  She  had  been  fond  of  colours,  rather 
gay  and  coquettish  in  attire.  The  coquetry,  in 

10 


The  Eternal  Spring 

fact,  remained.  He  had  noticed  her  high-heeled, 
small  grey  shoes;  the  long,  soft  gloves,  wrink- 
ling up  into  the  loose  sleeves  of  her  wrap;  a 
faint  foreign  breath  of  violets.  She  was  pictur- 
esque, as  she  had  always  been,  and  she  had,  some- 
how, more  style,  of  her  very  feminine  sort.  He 
wondered,  though,  if  she  could  be  still  wearing 
mourning  for  James  Craven.  Or  was  it,  perhaps, 
that  she  began  to  feel  the  shadow  of  years?  Decid- 
edly she  was  older — she  was  within  sight  of  the 
fatal  fortieth. 

Their  drive  was  nearly  at  an  end.  The  horses 
were  taking  the  long  hill  slowly.  The  stony  road 
wound  between  high  grey  walls,  within  which,  as 
Carleton  could  see,  looking  down  on  the  lower 
slopes,  blue-green  wheat  stood  in  long  billows, 
spotted  with  scarlet  poppies.  Their  sky-line  above 
was  now  a  ridge  of  nodding  grass  and  flowers,  now 
a  wall  running  over  with  flowering  vines,  now  a 
row  of  grey-green  olives.  They  had  left  the  noisy 
tram  behind,  and  all  other  evidences  of  the  modern 
order.  The  villa-gates  that  they  passed  were  old; 
the  walls  were  immemorially  old.  The  olive  trees 
had  a  look  of  the  wisdom  of  ages.  Even  the  wav- 

ii 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ing  wheat  and  the  flowers,  with  all  their  freshness 
of  spring,  suggested  all  the  other  springs  that  had 
flowered  there,  within  these  same  stone  boundaries, 
out  of  the  historic  soil.  Halfway  up  the  hill  they 
came  to  the  gateway  of  La  Fontanella.  At  one 
side  of  the  open  gate  stood  a  splendid  peasant-boy, 
new  to  Carleton,  but  smiling  a  welcome. 

"  The  gardener,"  said  Mrs.  Craven.  "  And  you 
remember  Roberto?  There  he  is.  He  and  this 
one,"  pointing  to  the  coachman,  "  are  the  only  old 
ones  left." 

The  carriage  rolled  in  and  stopped  before  the 
open  hall-doors.  Carleton  had  an  effusive  greeting 
from  Roberto,  the  moustachioed  butler.  And  he 
lingered  a  moment  in  the  doorway,  casting  a  look 
of  recognition  round  the  little  domain  of  La  Fon- 
tanella— the  wall  of  the  garden,  the  tiny  chapel, 
the  terrace  with  its  boundary  line  of  great  cypresses 
from  which  one  looked  down  on  Florence  in  its 
valley.  The  buff  stucco  front  of  the  house  made 
the  fourth  side  of  the  enclosure.  Nothing  had 
been  changed,  outside  or  in,  so  far  as  Carleton 
could  see.  The  broad,  long  hall,  inviting  as  of  old, 
still  boasted  the  primitive  pictures,  part  of  Cra- 

12 


The  Eternal  Spring 

yen's  collection  of  twenty  years.  Its  narrow 
benches  with  embroidered  cushions,  its  bowls  of 
flowers,  even,  stood  in  the  same  places.  Carleton 
glanced  down  on  the  table  in  the  niche  by  the  stairs, 
half  expecting  to  see  Craven's  gloves  and  hat — 
the  broad-leafed  hat  which  had  set  off  the  old 
man's  tossed  silver  hair,  and  with  the  Roman  cloak 
wrapping  his  wiry  frame,  had  made  him  so  pic- 
turesque a  figure,  pacing  the  antique  garden  or  the 
terrace.  For  the  moment  that  figure  was  very 
present  to  Carleton — the  keen  old  face,  the  pierc- 
ing eyes  and  close-pressed  mouth — the  chill  of  age, 
wise  without  geniality.  .  .  . 

"  Dinner  is  at  eight,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  We 
shall  be  rather  late,  so  come  down  just  as  you  are, 
will  you  ?  " 

She  took  him  to  the  door  of  his  old  rooms,  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  in  friendly  fashion.  "  It's 
so  awfully  jolly  to  see  you  again  !  "  was  her  parting 
word. 

Jolly?  Well,  perhaps,  in  the  sense  of  her  Eng- 
lish slang.  In  that  sense  the  house  itself  was  jolly 
— the  view,  Carleton's  bedroom,  with  its  grey  plas- 
ter walls  and  immense  pieces  of  furniture  of  black 

13 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Italian  walnut.     But  jollity,  in  its  strict  meaning, 
was  hardly  to  him  the  note  of  this  meeting. 

It  was  still  light  enough  to  dispense  with 
lamp  and  candles  as  he  made  his  abbreviated  toilet. 
From  the  dressing-room  he  went  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where  he  had  once  spent  a  good  many  hours 
trying  to  write  a  Borrowesque  novel.  Here  there 
were  a  few  alterations.  The  hangings  were  a  dif- 
ferent colour — a  dull  crimson  brocade,  some  new 
treasure.  There  was  a  desk  of  French  marquetry 
which  had  formerly  been  in  Elizabeth's  own  room. 
There  were  some  shelves  of  books.  Probably,  he 
thought,  she  had  been  using  these  rooms  herself. 
On  the  table  there  was  a  great  bowl  of  the  jasmine 
he  liked,  and  a,  few  pale  roses.  And  on  the  wall 
near  the  door  a  gleam  of  gold  caught  his  eye.  It 
was  a  tiny  picture,  on  the  background  of  which 
only  a  few  lines  of  colour  remained — the  brow, 
cheek,  and  lips  of  a  Madonna.  Carleton  remem- 
bered that  picture — it  had  hung  in  Craven's  bed- 
room. And  he  remembered  clearly  the  buying  of 
the  picture.  It  had  been  brought  to  the  door  under 
the  arm  of  one  of  the  many  Italians  who  knew 
Craven  as  a  collector.  On  the  terrace  out  there  it 

14 


The  Eternal  Spring 

had  been  studied  and  discussed.  And  Craven  had 
bought  it,  under  Elizabeth's  protest  at  the  price, 
Carleton  sitting  by,  an  amused  listener.  Why  had 
Elizabeth  hung  the  picture  here?  Had  she  come 
to  care  for  it,  or  was  it  for  him  ? 

A  velvety  footstep  and  discreet  knock  inter- 
rupted his  musings. 

"  Avanti,"  he  called. 

Roberto's  high-pitched  voice  responded  in  the 
old-fashioned  Italian  phrase  which  intimated  that 
if  by  chance  the  Signer  were  pleased  to  permit, 
dinner  might  be  considered  ready  in  the  salotto. 


CHAPTER  II 

CARLETON  was  a  little  dazzled  by  the 
company  in  which  he  found  himself.  It 
consisted  simply  of  the  two  house-guests, 
Elizabeth's  relatives,  and  a  young  Italian,  Dr. 
Morelli;  but  the  feminine  part  of  it  reminded  the 
newcomer  of  a  favourite  fresco,  Orcagna's  "  Para- 
diso."  They  were  three  as  charming  women,  he 
thought,  as  it  had  ever  been  his  fortune  to  see. 
And  yet  charming  was  not  exactly  the  word — cer- 
tainly not  the  word  for  Mrs.  Langham.  Carleton 
felt  that  Elizabeth  might  have  prepared  him  a 
little — unless,  indeed,  she  for  some  reason  wanted 
him  to  be  dazed. 

This  carelessly-mentioned  cousin  was  unmistak- 
ably a  very  great  beauty — a  beauty  on  really  an 
heroic  scale.  She  must  be  famous;  it  argued  noth- 
ing that  he  had  never  heard  of  her.  She  had  the 
air  of  a  famous  person;  she  was  as  calmly  self- 
conscious  as  a  festal  illumination.  She  was  very 
wonderfully  dressed — too  much  so  for  the  occa- 

16 


The  Eternal  Spring 

sion,  except  that  probably  she  was  never  seen  other- 
wise. She  would  always  think  of  herself  rather 
than  of  the  occasion,  and,  like  a  royal  person, 
could  not  properly  appear  without  a  certain 
amount  of  state;  thus  Carleton  summed  up  his 
first  impression. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  type — broad  in  line,  and  full 
of  dark  colour.  Carleton  had  seen  its  like  among 
pure-blooded  Tuscans.  She  had  masses  of  black 
hair,  artificially  rippled,  black  eyes  under  splen- 
didly arched  brows,  a  sensuous  red  mouth,  a  throat 
like  a  column.  She  was  either  very  slightly  or  very 
cleverly  made  up,  and  her  hands  and  wrists  were 
heavily  jewelled. 

She  was  absorbed  in  a  rapid  conversation  in 
French  with  Morelli,  which  continued  for  some 
time  after  they  sat  down  at  table.  Miss  Langham 
sat  between  her  mother  and  Carleton,  and  seemed 
very  willing  to  listen  on  either  side.  Elizabeth 
was  asking  questions  about  America,  some  people 
whom  Carleton  had  lately  seen,  and  other  things 
in  which,  he  felt,  the  girl  on  his  right  could  not  be 
interested.  But  she  was  listening,  nevertheless, 
and  presently  Elizabeth  said: 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Get  Mr.  Carleton  to  tell  you  about  Chicago, 
Clara.  Chicago  is  in  the  middle  of  America. 
America  means  to  Clara,"  she  explained,  "  just  a 
great  flat  stretch  of  country  from  which  come  dol- 
lars and  tourists.  I  shall  take  her  over  when 
I  go." 

Clara  smiled. 

"  Oh,  I  am  going!  Just  to  make  sure  that  I  am 
as  well  off  as  possible  here.  Sometimes  when  my 
landlord  is  unpleasant,  or  the  servants  rob  me  too 
much,  or  people  get  too  dull,  I've  almost  got  down 
to  take  my  passage.  But  somehow " 

"  Oh,  somehow!  "   said  Miss  Langham. 

"  Take  me  as  a  fair  sample  of  America,"  sug- 
gested Carleton.  "  I  assure  you  that  I  bring  the 
real  breath  of  the  prairies — I  am  absolutely  typi- 
cal. Let  me  save  you  the  journey.  And  take  my 
word  for  it,  you  are  well  off  here.  I've  been  think- 
ing of  my  favourite  picture  of  '  Paradise,'  down  in 
Florence." 

"Not  Fra  Angelico?  No,  no;  ours  isn't  that 
sort  of  a  Paradise !  But  such  as  it  is,  you  have  the 
freedom  of  the  place.  I'll  be  Saint  Peter  and  hand 
over  the  key  to  you.  Perhaps  we  might  make  you 

18 


The  Eternal  Spring 

keeper  of  the  gate — if  you'll  promise  to  keep  out 
all  bores." 

"  Don't  give  me  anything  to  do  just  yet,"  begged 
Carleton.  "  Much  less  anything  so  difficult.  Re- 
member, I  had  a  strenuous  life  of  it  on  earth.  Let 
me  have  a  flowery  bed  of  ease — I've  earned  it. 
They've  put  on  my  tombstone,  '  He  lived  in  Chi- 
cago.' " 

"  You  can't  very  well  go  back,  then." 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  intention  of  going  back. 
Why  should  I  go  back?  I  am  going  to  look  at 
fifteenth-century  pictures  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"  And  what  becomes,  then,  of  your  newspaper, 
of  your  Municipal  League,  and  the  rest  of  it " 

Carleton  implied  utter  rejection. 

"  Don't  ask  a  freed  spirit  what  becomes  of  his 
earthly  trammels.  I  had  already  forgotten  them." 

"  But,  good  heavens !  what  shall  we  do  with 
you?  It's  very  well  to  talk;  but,  after  all,  you'll 
have  to  have  some  occupation.  Everybody  has, 
you  know,  even  here.  I'm  a  housewife,  Clara  has 
her  music,  Dr.  Morelli  is  the  busiest  man  in  Flor- 
ence, and  Mrs.  Langham — well,  she  is  bored 
because  there  isn't  enough  to  do." 

19 


The  Eternal  Spring 

tf'  Let  me  find  occupation  for  myself,  then,  if  I 
must.  And  for  choice,  let  me  look  on — at  the  rest 
of  you.  I  shan't  want  any  other  distraction  at 
present." 

This  speech  was  sincere  and  literal.  Carleton's 
eye  was  so  abundantly  interested  and  satisfied  in 
the  immediate  spectacle  that  he  cared  for  nothing 
else,  not  even  to  talk;  all  the  more  as  he  was 
extremely  tired.  Weariness,  mental  and  physical, 
had  been  his  main  sensation  for  many  months. 
The  long  sea-voyage,  the  plunge  into  this  sweet, 
relaxing  air,  had  served  so  far  only  to  make  him 
conscious  that  he  was  tired  to  death.  But  there 
was  still  life  enough  in  him  to  respond  to  the 
beauty  about  him,  as  the  warmth  of  his  eyes 
showed. 

The  room  itself  was  beautiful  in  the  soft  light 
of  candles  and  Venetian  lamps;  its  ground-colour 
of  greenish-grey,  its  old  furniture  a  ruddy  brown, 
covered  with  leather,  embossed  with  great  gilt  nail- 
heads.  On  one  buffet,  deep-blue  dishes  stood 
against  the  green  wall.  The  mounting  steps  of 
another  held  Venice  glass  in  bubble-like  shapes. 
There  were  pictures — one  opposite  Carleton  a 

20 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Madonna  in  dark-blue  robe,  in  a  gold  heaven. 
Behind  him  the  windows  were  open  on  a  balcony 
which  overlooked  the  dark  garden.  The  fall  of 
the  little  fountain  that  gave  its  name  to  the  villa, 
the  interrupted  song  of  a  nightingale  in  the 
cypresses,  were  the  only  sounds  without;  within, 
voices  were  subdued.  Roberto,  in  white  gloves, 
with  moustachios  curling  into  his  eyes,  circled  the 
table  noiselessly;  his  falsetto  whisper  offered 
Carleton  white  wine  or  red. 

Carleton's  eyes  came  back  gratefully  to  Eliza- 
.  beth.  All  this  quiet  sweetness  was  hers,  and 
through  her,  for  the  time  being,  his.  The  dura- 
tion of  his  possession  depended,  he  knew,  on  him- 
self alone.  He  owed  much  to  her  affection  in  the 
past;  he  might,  if  he  would,  contract  the  great 
debt  of  all. 

She  was  looking  very  pretty,  her  fair  colouring 
lit  up  by  a  festal  glow  of  pleasure.  She  wore  a 
pale-grey  dress,  and  a  necklace  of  old  Italian  silver 
and  small  emeralds.  Her  face  showed  quick- 
flashing  spirit,  and,  above  all,  eagerness.  She  had 
always  been  eager,  often  aigre,  in  the  intensity  of 
her  unsatisfaction,  of  her  craving  for  something 

21 


The  Eternal  Spring 

that  she  had  not.  Now,  it  seemed  to  him,  she  was 
softened,  more  subdued  in  speech  and  manner, 
more  graceful. 

If  he  studied  her,  the  other  three  people  at  the 
table  did  so,  too;  Mrs.  Langham  with  an  occa- 
sional frank  stare  across  the  flower-bowls,  Morelli 
with  swift  glances,  Clara  more  unobtrusively  still. 
They  saw  some  change  in  her,  or  perhaps  they 
were  curious  to  find  some. 

Mrs.  Langham,  at  Elizabeth's  mention  of  her, 
looked  enquiringly  at  Carleton  and  broke  in  on 
Morelli's  fluent  undertone. 

"What  are  you  saying  about  me?  "  she  asked 
languidly. 

"  Only  that  you  are  bored  and  that  there  is 
nothing  to  do  here,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  It's  true, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Oh — no.  There  is  plenty  to  do,  only  I  am 
such  a  stupid  person,  I  have  no  abilities.  All  you 
others  find  enough  to  do.  But  I'm  not  bored — no. 
Interesting  people  are  always  happening  along." 
This  in  an  indolent  voice,  with  a  speculative  glance 
at  Carleton. 

"  We  have  a  colony  out  here,  but  Mrs.  Lang- 
22 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ham  doesn't  like  little  neighbourhood  dinners,  and 
tea,  and  scandal.  And  we  have  some  celebrities, 
too,  but  she  doesn't  like  them.  There  our  resources 
end — except  that  occasionally  we  can  gather  in 
some  stranger  like  yourself." 

"  Unlike  myself,  I  hope,  if  it's  a  question  of 
interest,"  murmured  Carleton.  "  I'm  quite  aware 
that  my  strangeness  is  my  only  claim." 

"  Oh,  well,  that  won't  last  long,"  said  Mrs. 
Langham.  "  They  will  know  all  about  you  in  a 
week.  That's  why  I  don't  like  neighbourhoods." 

She  did  not  belong  in  one,  assuredly;  in  any 
provincial  or  parochial  nook.  So  thought  Carle- 
ton,  and  instantly  questioned  his  impression. 
Where  did  she  belong?  On  a  stage  of  some  sort, 
evidently.  She  had  an  air  of  the  world,  yet  not  of 
any  definite  "  great  world."  She  might  be  in  a 
way  a  hanger-on ;  or  she  might  be  a  mere  stray  on 
the  surface,  acquainted  with  many  strange  coasts 
and  currents,  but  not  related  to  any.  In  Eliza- 
beth's phrase,  she  had  been  "  living  about  over 
here."  In  that  case,  she  had  hardly  made  the  most 
of  herself,  if  what  she  wanted  was  a  stage.  Her 
beauty,  he  judged,  was  not  matched  by  intelligence. 

23 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  looked  hard,  too.  But  what  a  splendid  figure 
to  make  the  centre  of  a  room ! 

The  dinner  was  nearly  over,  when  Carleton 
became  aware  that  as  yet  Miss  Langham  had 
addressed  no  remark  directly  to  him,  nor  had  he 
spoken  to  her.  It  was  not  that  she  seemed  out  of 
it;  or  if  she  were,  it  was  by  her  own  will.  She 
seemed  to  find  sufficient  interest  in  listening  and 
observing;  she  was  by  far  the  most  impersonal 
person  of  the  five.  As  she  sat  beside  Carleton, 
and  much  of  the  time  her  head  was  turned  away 
from  him,  her  looks  were  vaguer  to  him  than  the 
others.  But  he  perceived  a  profile — dark  hair, 
like  the  mother's,  but  unrippled,  a  slender  figure 
dressed  in  white,  beautiful  hands,  long  and  deli- 
cate, yet  strong.  Her  voice  was  soft  and  rather 
hesitating,  with  a  veiled  quality — it  was  like  the 
English  voice  as  he  had  known  it  in  some  sensitive 
and  ultra-nervous  people. 

Next  he  noticed  the  line  of  her  head,  from  the 
brow  to  the  coil  at  the  nape  of  her  neck;  the  poise 
of  the  head,  the  delicate  outline  of  her  shoulders, 
the  long  line  from  the  chin  to  the  base  of  the 
throat.  Her  profile  was  that  of  a  Lippo  Lippi 

24 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Madonna  " ;  and  when  she  again  turned  toward 
him  he  saw  that  she  really  carried  out  in  a  marvel- 
lous degree  that  same  type — the  rounded  fore- 
head, the  thin,  arched  eyebrows,  the  eyes  half- 
covered  by  drooping  lids,  the  full  and  pensive 
mouth. 

He  looked  from  her  to  her  mother,  and  won- 
dered. The  girl,  he  thought,  was  about  twenty — 
perhaps  two  or  three  years  older.  Mrs.  Langham 
seemed  not  older  than  thirty-five  or  six.  Their 
absolute  unlikeness  was  as  much  of  a  puzzle.  In 
combination  they  were  bewildering — and  then 
there  was  Elizabeth  for  another  distraction. 
Carleton  felt  moved  to  echo  the  youthful  shout  in 
Figaro:  " O  les  femmes  et  les  fillesf  les  filles  et 
les  femmes!  " 

Morelli,  he  found,  when  Elizabeth  finally  by  a 
question  shifted  the  talk  round,  spoke  excellent 
English,  and  seemed  to  have  a  keen  curiosity  about 
things  American.  Carleton  at  first  thought  him 
merely  polite  and  fluent;  but  as  they  followed  the 
ladies  upstairs  into  the  library  he  asked  a  rapid 
series  of  questions  which  indicated  a  personal  inter- 
est in  American  ways  of  living.  Particularly  he 

25 


The  Eternal  Spring 

wanted  to  know  about  Chicago,  never,  he  said, 
having  met  any  person  from  there  before. 

"  Have  you  been  in  London?  "  enquired  Carle- 
ton. 

11  Oh,  yes." 

"  Well,  perhaps  that  won't  help  you  much. 
Anyhow,  imagine  a  lot  of  enormous,  ugly  build- 
ings dumped  down  on  a  prairie,  with  mud  under- 
foot, smoke  overhead,  and  everything  between 
filled  with  soot — that's  Chicago,  outside.  Inside, 
it's  an  aggregation  of  about  two  million  more  or 
less  interesting  and  lawless  citizens.  Does  it  sound 
attractive  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it,"  said  Morelli.  "  I 
should  like  to  see  all  America — to  see  '  how  you 
do  it,'  as  you  say.  Truly,  I  should  like  to  go  and 
do  likewise." 

"  In  what  way?" 

"  Oh,  in  my  own  way,  too,  doubtless.  What  I 
admire  is  the  big  things  you  do.  If  I  could  be  two 
people,  I  should  be  first  what  I  am,  and  next 
an  American  millionaire,  '  self-made,'  as  you 
say." 

"  Even  if,  to  '  make  '  yourself,  you  had  to  slave 
26 


The  Eternal  Spring 

fourteen  hours  a  day  for  years,  in  a  noisy,  dirty 
hole  of  a  city?  " 

"  Oh,  work  is  nothing,"  remarked  Morelli.  "  I 
work  fourteen  hours  a  day  as  it  is." 

Mrs.  Langham  had  established  herself  on  a 
brocaded  sofa,  whose  dull  peacock-blues  and  gold 
made  an  ample  background  for  her.  Clara  sat 
down  beside  a  small  table,  on  which  presently 
Roberto  put  the  coffee-tray.  Morelli's  eyes  fol- 
lowed Clara,  and  rested  on  her;  and  now  he  went 
to  take  the  cup  from  her  hand  for  Mrs.  Langham. 
Then  she  gave  him  one  for  himself,  dropping  four 
lumps  of  sugar  into  it,  with  a  smile,  not  up  at  him, 
but  apparently  for  herself. 

Carleton  did  not  drink  coffee  at  night,  under 
penalty  of  sleeplessness;  but  he  went  to  get  a  cup 
from  Miss  Langham,  and  stood  near  her.  Eliza- 
beth lighted  a  cigarette  and  sat  down  at  her 
writing-table.  There  were  three  little  notebooks 
in  a  neat  pile,  just  placed  there  by  Roberto.  She 
glanced  over  a  few  pages  in  each,  added  up  some 
figures,  made  a  few  corrections;  then  took  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  wrote,  in  her  even,  precise  script, 
pausing  now  and  then  and  glancing  over  her  shoul- 

27 


The  Eternal  Spring 

der  at  the  group  near  the  chimney-piece.  Carle- 
ton  watched  her;  the  procedure  was  familiar.  She 
was  inspecting  the  accounts  of  the  day,  and  making 
out  the  menu  for  the  morrow.  She  did  it  easily 
and  quickly;  then  rang  for  Roberto,  gave  him  the 
books  and  paper,  and  apparently  got  rid  then  and 
there  of  housekeeping  cares.  In  all  the  time  he 
had  stayed  in  the  house  before,  Carleton  had  never 
seen  more  than  this  of  the  operating  machinery. 
With  apparently  no  more  oversight  than  this,  it 
had  run  smoothly,  delightfully;  except,  to  be  sure, 
that  there  had  been  an  occasional  mild  protest 
from  the  master  of  the  house  against  Elizabeth's 
extravagance,  which  she  had  always  vehemently 
denied.  Now,  Carleton  reflected,  she  could  be  as 
extravagant  as  she  liked;  at  least  there  was  no  one 
to  protest. 

She  wore  her  freedom  much  better  than  she  had 
worn  the  yoke.  She  seemed  now  entirely  the  chate- 
laine, entirely  at  ease,  too,  in  the  midst  of  her 
possessions;  and  this  she  had  not  been  formerly. 
There  was  no  one  now  to  chafe  her  by  the  per- 
petual nervous  prolixity  of  his  discourse,  to  worry 
her  with  advice,  sarcasm,  or  supervision,  to  hang 

28 


The  Eternal  Spring 

the  weight  of  age  and  outlived  experience  on  the 
motions  of  her  astonishingly  youthful  spirit. 
Elizabeth,  at  thirty-eight,  was  free  to  try  her 
fortune. 

It  dawned  on  Carleton  suddenly,  as  he  stood 
absorbed  in  these  reflections,  that  he  was  in  the 
way;  or  that  at  least  Morelli  thought  he  was. 
Morelli,  drinking  his  second  cup  of  coffee  and 
talking  in  Italian  to  Miss  Langham,  kept  glancing 
up  at  the  stranger,  but  not  at  all  in  a  way  to  take 
him  into  the  conversation.  His  frankness  amused 
Carleton.  He  looked  eminently  good-humoured; 
and  Carleton,  too,  was  good-humoured.  He 
moved  away,  and,  at  her  invitation,  sat  down  by 
Mrs.  Langham.  But  he  was  sufficiently  interested 
to  keep  an  eye  on  the  other  two ;  and  was  rewarded 
by  seeing  that  Morelli,  after  a  rapid  monologue 
in  a  low  tone  and  some  questions,  answered  in 
monosyllables  by  Clara,  got  up  to  go.  He  shook 
hands  all  round  and  said  to  Mrs.  Craven : 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  have  a  consultation  on 
the  other  side  of  town  at  ten  o'clock.  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  be  late." 

Elizabeth  laughed — they  all  laughed. 
29 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  impossible,  Morelli,1'  drawled  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham.  "  When  were  you  ever  late?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  careless, 
radiant  air,  and  departed. 

"  What  a  clever  creature  he  is ! "  said  the 
beauty.  "  Really,  he  amuses  me  more  than  any 
person  I  know,  almost.  He  was  telling  me  about 

the  new  Princess  Ruspoli "  She  paused, 

glanced  obliquely  at  Elizabeth,  and  laughed.  "I'll 
tell  you  something,  if  he  doesn't.  But  one  thing 
she  did  I  can  tell  you.  They  were  lunching  some- 
where, she  and  the  Principe,  and  he  asked  some- 
body to  drive  somewhere  with  him,  and  made  an 
appointment  for  the  afternoon.  She  spoke  up  and 
said,  across  the  table :  '  Pardon  me,  the  horses 
are  mine,  and  I'm  going  to  use  them  myself  this 
afternoon.'  She's  an  American,"  added  Mrs. 
Langham,  looking  at  Carleton.  "  But  she  forgets 
that  the  Principe  isn't.  I  wonder  what  will  happen 
to  her?  I  back  Ruspoli,  any  day." 

"What  would  be  his  proper  procedure,  in  the 
circumstances?"  enquired  Carleton. 

"  Oh,  it  depends.  They  have  been  married 
about  three  months.  Probably  he  will  frighten 

30 


The  Eternal  Spring 

her  into  giving  him  a  separate  establishment,  in  a 
few  months  more.  He  will  live  in  Rome,  and  she 
won't  be  received  anywhere.  If  she  holds  the 
purse-strings  too  tight,  he  will  whisper  that  her 
mind  is  affected.  It  doesn't  take  long  for  that  to 
get  about.  Then — who  knows?  Crazy  people 
do  queer  things.  Sometimes  they  do  themselves 
injury — become  violent,  and  have  to  be  shut 
up 1" 

"  Augusta,  you  are  lurid  to-night.  Don't  give 
Mr.  Carleton  the  idea  that  any  such  exciting  things 
may  happen.  He'll  be  cruelly  disappointed." 

"  Oh,  he  may  not.  And  then  it's  interesting, 
just  '  waiting  for  the  Sleary  babies  to  develop 
Sleary's  fits.'  And  sometimes  they  do.  You  ought 
to  read  the  Popolo  Romano — you'd  see  what 
things  happen."  Mrs.  Langham  yawned  slightly, 
and  gave  her  empty  cup  to  Carleton.  "  I'd  like  to 
be  born  an  Italian.  I  think  they  get  more  out  of 
life  than  we  do.  They  live  more  intensely.  And 
then  they  have  so  much  back  of  them — all  sorts  of 
queer  complications  and  undercurrents  and  things 
going  on  in  the  dark.  It's  drama — their  life  is — 
better  plots  than  D'Annunzio  makes." 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  dropped  her  words  evenly,  monotonously, 
with  an  air  rather  of  talking  against  time  and  not 
expecting  anything  from  her  listeners,  except  their 
attention.  That,  it  was  plain,  she  would  take  for 
granted. 

Clara  glanced  up  at  Carleton  as  he  set  down  the 
cup  on  the  table.  She  had  taken  up  some  work — a 
little  frame  with  a  pattern  of  lace  stretched  on  it — 
and  now  bent  over  it  again.  Her  fingers  moved 
swiftly,  guiding  a  long  needle  in  and  out  of  the 
square  meshes.  She  was  wonderfully  pictorial,  he 
thought.  And  he  wondered  why  she  effaced  her- 
self so,  leaving  the  whole  centre  of  the  floor,  as  it 
were,  to  her  mother.  Or  was  it,  perhaps,  only  a 
more  subtle  way  of  drawing  one's  attention?  It 
would  have  been,  he  concluded,  if  she  had  had  any 
reason  to  be  interested  in  himself.  As  it  was,  it 
probably  meant  just  lack  of  interest.  That  was 
natural  enough;  Carleton  felt  that  he  had  never 
been  more  stupid  in  his  life. 

He  was  glad  now  of  Elizabeth's  move.  She 
dismissed  him  to  bed,  with  a  sympathetic  note  of 
his  fatigue,  and  walked  with  him  again  along  the 
corridor  to  the  door  of  his  room. 

32 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Good-night — ring  for  your  breakfast  any  time 
you  want  it,"  she  said.  "  You'll  take  a  lot  of  rest- 
ing, won't  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shall,"  he  said  ruefully.  "  But  I 
shan't  be  so  bad  as  this  to-morrow.  .  .  .  It's 
wonderful,  being  here — and  you're  wonderfully 
good  to  me." 

He  put  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  she  left  him, 
with  a  soft  backward  look. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  he  flung  himself  into  the 
great  bed,  which  reared  its  mass  on  a  dais  till  its 
head  almost  touched  the  ceiling,  that  he  sank  into 
his  ineffable  weariness  as  into  a  sea  whose  waves 
closed  over  him,  obliterating  thought  and  even 
sense.  The  silence  was  absolute.  Even  the  foun- 
tain and  the  nightingale  were  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house  and  inaudible.  He  sighed  deeply  and 
lay  without  moving.  The  air  that  blew  in  upon 
him  had  a  drowsy  coolness.  It  was  poppy  and 
mandragora  from  the  fields  of  sleep.  Peace,  peace, 
quiet  remoteness  from  the  jar  and  jangle  of  life — 
tills  was  what  he  had  come  to  find,  perhaps  to  ask 
of  Elizabeth,  for  he  could  not  find  it  alone. 


33 


CHAPTER  III 

IT  was  this  same  air,  warmed  by  the  late  May 
sun  to  a  softer,  more  relaxing  degree,  that 
Carleton  blamed  for  his  languor  next  day. 
A  night's  sleep  of  ten  solid  hours  had  not  pre- 
vented him  from  drowsing  off  again  immediately 
after  his  late  breakfast — in  spite  of  the  splendour 
of  a  blue-and-gilt  morning  and  an  infinity  of  things 
to  interest  his  eye.  He  had  found  Elizabeth  on 
the  terrace  in  the  shade  of  the  cypresses,  where 
there  were  always  chairs  and  a  table  for  writing, 
and  almost  always  a  breeze.  She  had  left  him  for 
a  few  moments  while  she  went  in  to  see  some  visit- 
ors ;  and  he  awoke  to  see  her  sitting  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, writing  a  letter.  He  sat  up  in  his  long 
wicker  chair  and  uttered  an  apology. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  there  ?  "  he  enquired 
confusedly. 

"  About  half  an  hour,"  Elizabeth  smilingly 
answered,  laying  down  her  pen.  "  Do  you  hate 
to  have  people  see  you  asleep?  I  do.  One  never 

34 


The  Eternal  Spring 

knows  what  one  looks  like.  Fancy  being  seen 
sleeping  with  your  mouth  open — how  idiotic  one 
would  look !  " 

"  I  hope  I  wasn't,"  said  Carleton  earnestly. 

"  No,  indeed,  or  I  should  have  waked  you." 

"  I  wish  you  had.  It's  ridiculous.  I  slept  last 
night  as  I  haven't  for  years.  It  must  be  the  air. 
It  has  certainly  an  indescribably  languid  quality." 
Carleton  half  closed  his  eyes  and  breathed  deeply. 

"  It's  not  the  air — it's  the  relaxation  of  the  bent 
bow,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  You  must  be  idle  now, 
and  you'll  suffer  the  penalty  of  having  worked. 
I've  seen  it  before.  You'll  go  to  pieces  to  a  certain 
extent.  I  hope  we  can  put  you  together  again, 
though." 

"  And  make  me  young  again?  .  .  .  Then 
you  really  have  the  magic  caldron  tucked  away 
somewhere?  I  could  almost  swear  I  felt  it  at 
work  already,  melting  my  old  bones.  .  .  .  Do 
you  know  how  I  feel?  Like  one  of  those  twisted 
olive-trees  when  the  spring  begins  to  work  in  it 
and  the  sap  to  rise  and  swell  its  branches  and  strain 
its  tough  old  bark !  " 

"  Don't  sit  up  meanwhile  in  that  decorously 
35 


The  Eternal  Spring 

uncomfortable  fashion,"  said  Elizabeth.  '  That's 
the  invalid  chair,  and  you're  now  on  my  list 
of  invalids.  Lie  down — and  tell  me  what  on  earth 
you've  been  doing  the  last  three — yes,  three — 
years.  It's  about  that  time  since  you  stopped 
writing  me  what  you  were  doing." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  low  chair  and  looked  at 
him  composedly.  In  a  light  morning-dress,  with 
a  white  hat  pulled  down  over  her  brows,  she  was — 
if  not  quite  as  pretty  as  in  candle-light — yet  suffi- 
ciently attractive  to  help  Carleton  out. 

'  You  know  why  I  stopped,"  he  said  with  a 
steady  gaze. 

"  No,  I  do  not  know.  But  it  doesn't  matter — I 
mean,  I  didn't  intend  to  ask.  I  asked  you " 

"  But,  Elizabeth,  you  must  have  known  at  the 
time.  You've  forgotten." 

She  smiled,  rather  bitterly. 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  anything.  There  wasn't 
anything  positive.  You  simply  stopped  writing 
me — I  mean  about  yourself  and  your  life,  as  you 
had  been  doing  up  to  that  time.  It  was  natural 
enough — I'm  not  complaining,  though  I  believe  I 

did  protest  a  little  at  the  time " 

36 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But  you  know — it  all  seemed  so  hopeless  then. 
I  felt  that  I  was  bound  down  to  the  wheel  for  an 
indefinite  time.  I  saw  no  chance  of  seeing  you 
again  for  years  to  come.  And  meantime  I  must 
drudge  along  in  the  same  round  that  you  knew, 
and  that  couldn't  be  very  interesting " 

"Barry,  you  know  better!  You  know  that  I 
was  keenly  interested;  that  I  followed  your  work, 
and  studied  your  politics,  and  did  my  best  to  know 
just  what  you  were  thinking,  and  doing,  and  liv- 
ing! But  it  grew  tiresome  to  you — troublesome 

to  tell  me  all  I  wanted  to  know.  And  you " 

She  pulled  herself  up.  "  But  here — this  isn't  what 
I  meant !  Tell  me  now,  if  it  won't  tire  you,  what 
the  last  three  years  have  been — just  briefly,  I  mean. 
What  have  you  been  doing,  to  hollow  your  face 
and  wear  out  your  nerves?  " 

"  Working,  and — well,  gambling,"  said  Carle- 
ton. 

"Oh,  gambling?" 

"  Yes.  It  was  like  this.  As  you  know,  I  went 
back  to  America  because  of  my  father's  death.  I 
should  have  had  to  go  anyhow  because  of  the  finan- 
cial smash  that  followed.  Up  to  the  time  I  was 

37 


The  Eternal  Spring 

twenty-five,  I'd  never  worked  at  all — that  is,  I 
mean  I  hadn't  earned  any  money.  Then  I  found 
myself  with  three  people  to  support.  My  mother 
had  a  very  small  property  left.  My  sister  was 
young,  pretty,  and  gay.  .  .  .  Well,  all  this 
you  know,  and  about  my  newspaper  work.  I  did 
work  like  the  devil,  those  first  two  years.  I  threw 
myself  into  it,  into  the  study  of  the  city — first  just 
as  a  phenomenon,  seen  from  a  foreign  point  of 
view.  Then  as  I  got  more  intimate  with  its  condi- 
tions my  work  became  less  sociology  and  more  defi- 
nitely politics.  .  .  .  Then  I  ceased  to  write 
you  details.  They  would  have  been  practical  and 
rather  sordid  details — the  story  of  a  long,  slow 
fight  against  the  usual  brand  of  corruption.  It 
wasn't  a  spectacular  fight.  The  men  that  were 
doing  it  weren't  picturesque.  I  couldn't  have  made 
it  interesting.  And  then — I  was  getting  tired.  I 
was  losing  my — well,  what  ambition  I'd  had.  I 
was  deadly  tired  of  the  newspaper  mill,  of  business 
policy,  of  being  tied  down  to  say  just  so  much  of 
what  I  wanted  to  say  as  would  be  safe,  and  to 
earn  so  much  money  every  month.  What  could 
I  do?" 

38 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Carleton  stopped  to  light  a  cigar.  Elizabeth 
was  listening  intently. 

"  I  couldn't  get  free  except  by  making  some 
money — a  good  deal.  I  knew  nothing  about  busi- 
ness or  any  other  profession,  even  if  I  could  have 
started  in,  at  thirty,  without  capital.  I  did  know 
something  about  the  stock-market,  as  most  news- 
paper men  do.  I  began  to  study  it  hard.  I  specu- 
lated a  little,  week  by  week,  for  two  years.  I  made 
small  profits,  seldom  losing.  I  increased  my 
mother's  property  by  about  a  third.  .  .  .  Then, 
last  winter,  I  went  in  hard.  I  knew  a  man,  a  rich 
fellow,  who  let  me  in  on  the  first  thing.  Then — I 
played  as  high  as  I  could.  I  was  playing  for  a 
decent  amount  of  freedom — and  risking  hopeless 
slavery.  ...  I  pulled  it  off.  I  made  enough 
in  that  winter,  boiled  down  into  safe  securities,  to 
give  my  mother  a  comfortable  little  income.  My 
sister  has  married  rather  well.  And  I — well,  I 
have  about  enough  to  live  on,  for  myself.  At 
least,"  he  added,  "  I  shall  have  to  live  on  it!  I 
wouldn't  go  through  this  last  year  again  for  any 
amount  of  money." 

He  lay  back  in  the  chair  and  re-lighted  his  cigar, 
39 


The  Eternal  Spring 

which  had  gone  out.  Then  he  held  up  the  burnt 
match  with  a  smile.  It  shook  in  his  fingers  like  a 
leaf  in  the  wind. 

"  That's  what  it  did  for  me,"  he  commented. 
"  You  see,  I'm  not  a  money-making  sort.  Heaven 
knows  what  I  was  made  for;  but  at  least  it  wasn't 
that.  It  was  all  dead  against  the  grain." 

Elizabeth  nodded  slowly. 

"  I  can  believe  it.  The  wonder  is  you  could 
do  it  at  all,  with  your  temperament  and  training. 
How  could  you  do  it,  Barry?  I  used  to  think  you 
could  never  do  anything — anything  practical,  I 
mean.  You  seemed  never  to  have  the  will  for 
it — never  to  use  your  will,  to  make  yourself 
do  anything.  But  this  must  have  been  sheer 
will." 

'  Yes, — at  the  last  it  was,  at  least — sheer  will. 
I  made  use  of  that  egotism  you  were  always  accus- 
ing me  of — I  must  have  a  frightful  amount  now, 
if  it  grows  by  use !  " 

"  I  wonder  if  it  does?  I  called  you  an  egotist 
because  you  were  always  so  completely  yourself,  so 
conscious  of  yourself,  your  character,  and  all.  You 
were  never  uncertain !  But  not  because  you  used 

40 


The  Eternal  Spring 

that  force  for  any  definite  end.  You  never  did 
that." 

"  No,  not  then.  But  I  have  done  it  since.  I've 
used  it  all — used  it  up,  I  think.  I  don't  seem  to 
have  any  left." 

"  Any  egotism?  " 

"  Yes — or  any  will." 

Elizabeth  pondered. 

"  But,  at  any  rate,  you're  free  now.  You're  a 
success,"  she  said  suddenly. 

Carleton  laughed,  not  altogether  sweetly. 

"  Oh,  a  wonderful  success !  "  He  brooded  over 
it  for  a  little.  "  Yes,  wonderful.  I  dropped  what 
work  I  was  doing  as  soon  as  I  could.  I  used  to 
think  I  cared  whether  the  second  city  of  our  coun- 
try had  a  decent  administration  or  was  ruled  by  a 
band  of  thieves.  I  used  to  think  decency  was 
worth  fighting  for,  inch  by  inch.  I  used  to  write 
and  lecture  about  municipal  problems.  I  used  to 
think  I'd  get  into  the  game — '  public  life,'  you 
know, — for  the  public  good.  .  .  .  Well, 
now  you  see  how  much  in  earnest  I  was." 

"  Oh,  about  politics. — You  were  very  young 
when  you  went  back — you  were,  really,  astonish- 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ingly  young.  It  was  natural  you  should  have 
enthusiasms.  But  real  success  I  call  your  getting 
out  of  that  environment.  You  took  the  only  way 
out.  It  was  clever  of  you !  I  never  thought  you 
were  at  all  practical.  But  you  did  a  difficult  thing 
— I  admire  you  for  it.  You  might  have  stuck  in 
that  quicksand  all  your  life — buried  in  it.  And 
now  you're  free !  " 

"  Yes,  free,"  he  murmured.  Then  he  blew  out 
a  great  cloud  of  smoke  and  said  suddenly: 
"  You're  perfectly  sure  that  you're  doing  the  right 
thing,  aren't  you?  Your  life  here,  I  mean.  You 
don't  feel  cut  off  from  anything?  " 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him,  unable  for  a  moment 
to  reply. 

"  If  you  mean,"  she  said  finally,  "  living  here 
rather  than  in  America,  I'm  quite  sure.  I  couldn't 
live  there.  You  see,  don't  you?  " 

His  glance  rested  on  her  a  moment,  then  roved 
slowly  over  her  background  —  the  noble  dark 
cypresses  that  towered  up  over  the  boundary-wall 
and  cut  sharply  the  burning  blue  of  the  sky.  They 
stood  seemingly  on  the  edge  of  an  abyss  of  air,  for 
the  hill  shelved  sharply  down,  the  valley  was  invis- 

42 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ible  from  where  Carleton  sat,  and  only  the  hills  on 
the  far  side  climbed  into  view,  painted  thick  with 
purple  shades.  Carleton  got  up  and  went  to  the 
edge  of  the  terrace  and  leaned  on  the  wall.  Little 
lizards  darted  away  among  the  crevices  of  the 
ancient  stones.  Somewhere  in  the  fields  below  a 
cuckoo  was  calling  in  a  perfect  Swiss-clock  voice. 
He  listened  for  the  vicious  slam  of  the  clock-door, 
which  had  always  followed  the  voice  at  home,  and 
smiled  as  a  vision  of  "  home  "  rose  before  him. 
He  was  fond  of  his  mother;  but  "home"  had 
meant,  for  the  last  five  years,  one  varnished  and 
comfortless  flat  after  another,  with  a  succession  of 
unprofitable  servants. 

There  lay  the  city,  crowding  about  the  Dome, 
which  rose,  straining  at  its  moorings  as  a  soap- 
bubble  strains  away  from  the  pipe  into  an  obloid 
shape.  There  was  beauty,  there  were  endless 
memories.  Carleton  turned  and  glanced  again 
over  the  terrace,  where  the  sunlight  lay  heavy  on 
the  gravel;  up  at  the  light  fagade  of  the  house; 
down  at  the  garden  wall,  within  which  the  fonta- 
nella  sang  to  itself. 

A  new  music  broke  on  his  ear.     It  came  appar- 
43 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ently  from  somewhere  near,  but  outside,  the  house. 
A  piano,  smitten  with  strength,  gave  it  forth — a 
music  sonorous,  weighty  and  formal,  beginning 
with  a  majestic  prelude  and  going  on  as  though  it 
meant  to  continue  indefinitely. 

Carleton  approached  Elizabeth,  who,  her  head 
bent,  was  disturbing  the  fine  gravel  at  her  feet  with 
the  point  of  a  bronze  slipper. 

"  I  haven't  been  into  the  garden  yet — will  you 
take  me?  "  he  asked. 

"Willingly." 

They  walked  toward  the  house.  Its  front  was 
continuous,  in  Italian  fashion,  with  the  garden- 
wall,  and  the  wall  of  a  courtyard,  and  the  front  of 
the  stables  beyond.  The  door  into  the  courtyard 
was  open.  Elizabeth  nodded  toward  it. 

''  That's  Clara  at  her  music.     Come  and  see." 

"  But  we  may  disturb  her,  I  suppose,"  objected 
Carleton. 

"  She  won't  see  us.  I  want  you  to  see  the  new 
music-room." 

It  was  a  separate  building,  at  one  side  of  the 
court — a  single  large  room  with  vaulted  ceiling, 
some  seats  at  one  end  and  Clara  at  the  piano  at  the 

44 


The  Eternal  Spring 

other.  The  girl's  back  was  toward  the  door.  Her 
white  dress,  her  black,  heavy  knot  of  hair,  her 
head  bent  forward  over  the  keyboard,  her  hands 
beating  out  a  series  of  tremendous  clashing  chords, 
gave  Carleton  a  mixed  impression  of  grace  and 
energy.  He  turned  away,  after  one  look. 

"  She  plays  Bach  quite  amazingly  well,"  said 
Elizabeth  as  they  retreated.  "  She  plays  for  me 
every  Friday — my  day.  Really,  she's  almost  a 
professional,  you  see.  It's  been  her  ambition,  and 
she  has  played  in  public  a  few  times.  But,  poor 
girl,  she  hasn't  the  nerves  for  it — or,  rather,  she 
has  too  many." 

"  Has  she?  She  doesn't  look  ill,  though — and 
it  must  take  various  kinds  of  strength  to  play  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"  Oh,  she's  not  ill — at  least,  not  now.  But  it's 
a  hair-trigger  kind  of  organization — a  question  of 
delicate  balance — over-balance,  sometimes.  She 
can  stand  a  good  deal  of  hard  work — but  the  excite- 
ment of  playing  in  concert  throws  her  quite  out. 
Last  time  she  broke  down,  poor  child,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  her  programme.  It  was  in  London,  last 
winter.  It  must  have  been  quite  awful,  the  effect 

45 


The  Eternal  Spring 

on  her.  In  fact,  she's  hardly  got  over  it  yet.  Her 
mother  wrote  me  about  it,  and  I  asked  them  to  come 
here  immediately.  But  Clara  wouldn't,  till  she 
had  pulled  herself  together.  Then  went  to  Rome 
instead.  Mrs.  Langham  hates  London." 

"  The  girl's  nerves  don't  come  from  that  side 
of  the  family,  I  suppose,"  said  Carleton.  "  I 
should  say  Mrs.  Langham  had  about  as  many  as 
a  marble  Roman." 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "  She  thinks  she  has  them, 
though,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  She  stopped  just 
inside  the  garden  door  and  pointed  up  at  a  line  of 
open  windows.  "  Those  are  her  rooms.  She's 
about  the  serious  business  of  the  day.  Do  you 
know  that  woman's  toilette  takes  three  mortal 
hours  every  morning?  She  never  appears  till  one. 
But  then  she's  presentable  for  the  next  twelve 
hours.  She  won't  change  her  gown  more  than 
three  times  in  the  course  of  the  day — perhaps  only 
twice,  if  it's  just  ourselves.  And  she  will  look — 
well,  as  you  saw  her  last  night.  Oh,  it's  worth  the 
three  hours!  Besides,  she's  nothing  else  to  do." 

They  went  on  past  the  wall  where  the  jasmine 
and  roses  clung,  between  rows  of  orange  trees  in 


The  Eternal  Spring 

great  earthenware  pots,  down  a  long,  leisurely 
flight  of  stone  steps,  broken  by  several  landings. 
On  the  different  terraces  grew  masses  of  shrubs 
and  small  trees,  many  in  flower  and  fragrant  under 
the  hot  sun.  In  the  centre  of  the  garden  was  the 
fountain,  half  in  shadow.  Its  surface  was  covered 
with  lily  and  lotos-pads,  under  which  lurked  gold- 
fish with  long,  prismatic,  fringe-like  fins. 

They  sat  down  in  the  shade  on  the  stone  rim  of 
the  fountain.  Carleton  looked  about  him  for  some 
moments  thoughtfully.  The  place  was  silent,  for 
the  bulk  of  the  house  was  between  them  and  the 
piano — they  could  no  longer  hear  it.  They  were 
out  of  eye-shot  of  the  windows,  too,  behind  a  row 
of  lemon-trees.  He  laid  his  hand  on  Elizabeth's. 

"  Yes,  I  see — you  could  never  go  back,"  he  said, 
answering  the  question  he  had  asked  out  there  on 
the  terrace.  "  I  don't  know  why  the  idea  occurred 
to  me — except  that  it  seemed  to  me  you  must,  after 
all,  be  rather  lonely  here." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  drawing 
away  a  little  from  his  light  touch.  "  But  I  should 
hardly  be  less  lonely  anywhere  else.  Plenty  of 
people  come  to  me  here." 

47 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Yes,  they  come — and  they  go." 

"  I  shouldn't  want  all  of  them  to  stay !  " 

"  No,  nor  any  of  them,  perhaps.  That's  just  it." 

"  But  they  entertain  me  immensely!     I  like  new 

people.    And  some  I  am  really  fond  of,  like  Clara. 

I  hope  she  will  marry  Morelli." 

"  Marry  him?     Why  do  you  hope  so?  " 

"  Oh,  she  ought  to  marry,  and  she  likes  him, 

and  he  is  madly  in  love  with  her.     Also,  he  is  a 

very  clever  man,  and  I  like  him,  too,  very  much.    I 

rather  think  I  shall  leave  them  my  money,  if  they 

marry.    At  least,  I  shall  give  Clara  a  dowry,  for 

he's  poor  and  she  has  only  a  little." 

"They  look  like  rich  people — the  mother  and 

daughter,  I  mean." 

"  Ah,  their  dress — they  know  how  to  do  it.  And 

then  Mrs.  Langham  has  a  good  deal — but  she'll 

always  need  it  all." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  find  her  rather  a — white 

elephant   on   your  hands,"   said   Carleton  lazily. 

"She's  really  on  an  heroic  scale,  isn't  she?" 
"  Oh,   I   wouldn't  have  her,   if  it  wasn't   for 

Clara.      But   Clara   won't  go  anywhere  without 

her.     Of  course,  Augusta  is  something  to  show 

48 


The  Eternal  Spring 

off — people  like  to  come  and  look  at  her.  But 
she  is  so  bored  here,  and  I  can't  give  her  what  she 
likes — it  doesn't  fit  in  with  my  quiet  life.  I  sup- 
pose you  saw  that  she  looked  you  over  and  rejected 
you?  She  doesn't  like  American  men,  any- 
way." 

"  I  wasn't  aware  that  I  was  offered  to  her,"  said 
Carleton,  rather  piqued.  "  She  doesn't  interest 
me." 

"But  Clara  does?" 

"  Suppose,  now,  we  stop  talking  about  your  rela- 
tives— will  you  ?  The  person  I  happen  to  be  inter- 
ested in  just  now  is  yourself." 

"  Myself?  I'm  even  less  interesting  than  I  was 
three  years  ago,  when  you — forgot  all  about  me. 
I've  become  what  you  see — a  placid  old  dowager, 
busy  with  the  love  affairs  of  the  young  people. 
You  must  let  me  arrange  one  for  you." 

"  That,"  said  Carleton,  "  is  what  I  came  over 
for." 

"  Ah,  no,  my  dear !  "  said  Elizabeth  with  a 
little  agitated  laugh.  "  You  came  because  you'd 
got  some  money,  and  a  nervous  break-down !  " 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  have  come  if  I  hadn't  got 
49 


\The  Eternal  Spring 

some  money,  could  I?"  Carleton  asked  steadily. 
"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could,  didn't  I?  .  .  .As 
to  forgetting  you — you  can  understand,  can't  you, 
how  just  then  it  all  seemed  hopeless?  " 

Elizabeth  stood  up  hastily;  she  fairly  took  to 
flight. 

"  I  must  go — luncheon — there  are  some  people 
coming,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  trembled  for  all 
her  effort.  And  she  started  on  ahead  of  Carleton 
so  that  he  should  not  see  her  eyes.  On  the  first 
landing  he  stopped. 

"  I'll  go  back  there  until  lunch-time,  I  think," 
he  said. 

"  Very  well.  Lunch  is  at  one.  You'll  find  a 
bench  somewhere  in  the  shade." 

And,  even  now  not  meeting  his  look,  she  went 
on  up  the  steps. 

Carleton  went  back,  and  stood  for  some  mo- 
ments staring  down  at  the  lilies  in  the  fountain. 
Then  he  became  aware  that  the  sun  was  boring  a 
hole  between  his  shoulders,  and  turned  aside  into 
a  shaded  walk.  He  took  the  first  stone  seat  at 
hand,  threw  off  his  hat,  and  clasped  his  hands  at 
the  back  of  his  neck,  where  the  familiar  gnawing 

50 


The  Eternal  Spring 

pain  was  at  work  again.  His  few  minutes  in  the 
sun  this  morning  had  brought  it  back — or  had  it 
never  really  left  him  at  all?  The  old  feeling  of 
absolute  uselessness  came  back  with  it. 

"  I'm  a  nice  fellow  to  be  making  love  1  "  he 
thought  disgustedly.  "  No  wonder  she  wouldn't 
have  it.  .  «,  .  And  yet,  why  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

A  perception  of  the  reason  why  she  wouldn't 
made  itself  clear  in  spite  of  him.  He  felt  sick, 
sorry,  and  ashamed.  She  was  right — it  had  been 
forced.  He  had  forced  himself  to  begin  to  say 
things.  But  Carleton  had  got  so  used  to  forcing 
himself  that  he  asked  now,  rather  aghast,  How 
was  he  ever  to  do  or  say  anything  more,  if  he  was 
expected  to  be  perfectly  spontaneous?  Life  was 
an  effort,  had  been  for  years,  and  was  still.  It 
must  continue  to  be,  or  else  stop  altogether,  he 
thought.  Elizabeth  was  unreasonable,  if  she 
expected  the  fresh  ardour  of  a  boy.  .  .  . 

Carleton  wearily  sounded  his  heart,  and  dis- 
covered that  he  really  did  not  want  to  make  the 
effort  to  live.  He  did  not  really  want  anything  at 
all.  But  he  had  believed  that  Elizabeth  wanted 
him;  he  had  vaguely  intended  to  live  for  her  sake. 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Now,  did  she  at  all  want  him,  or  was  it  only  that 
she  did  not  want  him,  as  it  were,  in  fragments? 

Well,  it  was  evident,  at  any  rate,  that  he  was 
not  to  force  himself  to  make  love  to  her.  Cer- 
tainly, if  he  could  take  her  on  a  basis  of  clear, 
unsentimental  liking,  it  would  be  easier — at  any 
rate,  for  a  time. 

"  And,  by  Jove,"  was  his  resolution,  "  if  I  ever 
do  say  anything  more,  she  shall  stay  and  listen !  " 

He  was  irritated,  and  at  the  same  time  grateful 
to  her  for  running  away.  He  did  not  want  any 
emotions,  unless  they  might  be  of  the  perfectly 
primitive  sort,  as  purely  sensuous,  as  immediate 
and  transitory,  as  the  effect  of  the  air's  softness  or 
the  jasmine's  perfume.  In  his  relaxed  state  he  was 
peculiarly  susceptible  to  things  of  the  sense — to 
the  beauty  of  the  earth,  of  art,  and  of  women. 
And  he  wanted  just  to  enjoy  all  of  these  that  came 
easily. 

It  had  begun — his  enjoyment — with  the  long, 
calm  southern  voyage,  and  the  day  at  Naples  had 
flung  wide  the  gate  for  him.  Something  he  had 
seen  on  the  hill  of  Posilippo  recurred  now,  as  it 
often  had  in  the  meantime — a  glimpse  of  feminine 

52 


The  'Eternal  Spring 

and  of  Italian  charm.  As  his  cab  passed  a 
doorway  in  a  high  wall,  a  woman,  dressed  in 
black,  with  black  drapery  over  her  head,  young 
and  graceful,  came  out,  and  turned  to  take  leave 
of  a  young  girl.  She  took  the  girl's  chin  in  her 
hand,  and  turned  the  small  face  and  kissed  both 
its  cheeks,  with  a  slow,  sweet  movement  of  her 
veiled  head.  Sweet,  sweet  it  was !  Carleton 
dwelt  on  the  picture  with  speculative,  regretful 
pleasure.  If  only  all  these  Italian  days  might  have 
that  suggestion  of  surprise,  of  romance,  adven- 
ture I 


53 


MORELLI  came  to  luncheon — late,  after 
the  rest  of  them  had  gone  to  the  table — 
and   Carleton  studied  him  with  some 
attention.     A  seat  had  been  kept  for  him  next  to 
Miss  Langham,  and  the  information  that  he  was 
in  love  with  her  seemed  to  Carleton  quite  super- 
fluous.    One  had  only  to  look  at  him  to  see.     As 
for  Clara,   she  had  the  perfectly  non-committal 
manner  that  women  know.    Apparently  she  found 
him  agreeable. 

And  that  he  was  an  attractive  person  Carleton 
could  not  deny.  His  air  of  energy,  of  buoyant 
vitality,  of  frank  good  humour,  was  immensely 
taking.  He  seemed  full  of  iron  and  electricity. 
His  reddish-brown  hair  and  eyes  and  fair  skin,  and 
his  wiry  litheness — he  was  as  quick  in  motion  as  a 
lizard — spoke  of  a  mixed  strain;  and,  in  fact,  he 
had  some  English  blood.  But  his  gaiety  and 
expressiveness  were  altogether  Italian.  He  had  a 

54 


The  Eternal  Spring 

great  deal  of  social  cleverness.  Carleton  marked 
the  tonic  effect  of  his  entrance  on  the  rather  lan- 
guid party  assembled,  and  saw  his  obvious  popu- 
larity. 

It  was  by  no  means  a  formal  party.  There  was 
an  English  art-critic  with  his  wife,  and  also  an 
English  girl  who  was  writing  a  book  on  some 
obscure  Renaissance  painter.  She  talked  to  the 
art-critic  about  the  progress  of  symbols;  and 
Carleton  talked  with  the  art-critic's  wife,  a  fair, 
delicate,  vehement  little  creature,  about  her  hus- 
band. Mrs.  Langham  appeared  with  a  long,  loose 
white  wrap  over  her  shoulders,  and  an  enormous 
white  hat.  The  massy  ripples  of  her  hair  looked 
as  immutable  as  a  Japanese  head-dress.  She  sat 
with  one  elbow  on  the  table  and  talked  vaguely 
with  the  other  visitor — a  young  American  whom 
Carleton  knew  slightly  and  disliked  for  his  acidity. 

Elizabeth,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  appeared 
impersonal  and  detached.  She  no  longer  had  any 
vestige  of  the  American  manner  of  the  hostess. 
Pier  guests  caused  her  no  concern.  Carleton  had 
not  been  introduced  to  anybody.  No  one,  appar- 
ently, noticed  him  as  a  stranger.  Nobody  tried  to 

55 


The  Eternal  Spring 

entertain  him,  or  to  talk  up  or  down  to  him.  Some- 
thing of  the  feeling  of  the  night  before  came  back 
to  him.  He  began  to  feel  rather  happy  again. 

After  luncheon,  and  coffee  on  the  terrace,  the 
party  abruptly  dissolved.  Elizabeth  and  Mrs. 
Langham  were  going  to  drive  into  town.  The  art- 
critic  and  the  English  girl  disappeared  to  pore  over 
Craven's  photographs  of  decayed  paintings,  in  the 
library.  The  Englishman's  wife  went  home,  and 
took  Gardner,  the  young  American,  who,  it 
appeared,  was  staying  with  them.  Clara  and 
Morelli  went  off  into  the  garden.  Elizabeth 
offered  to  take  Carleton  if  he  wished. 

"  I  don't  suppose,  though,  that  you  want  to  go 
sight-seeing  yet- — or  even  shopping  with  us,"  she 
said.  "  There's  any  amount  of  time,  you 
know." 

"  Then  I'll  waste  a  little  here  alone,"  he  de- 
cided. 

"Yes,  till  four — then  there'll  be  tea  in  the 
salotto,  and  music  afterward.  Clara  will  play 
for  us." 

He  watched  her  drive  away  and  the  gates  close 
behind  her,  and  found  himself  solitary.  It  wasn't 

56 


The  Eternal  Spring 

exactly  what  he  had  expected.  He  was  treated, 
really,  in  quite  a  casual  way;  like  any  other  way- 
farer; taken  in  and  fed  and  made  free  of  the 
place,  and  left  alone.  His  coming,  after  all,  had 
apparently  made  not  a  ripple  in  Elizabeth's  way  of 
life.  Her  life  was  full,  too,  evidently;  and  she 
had  not  pushed  aside  anything  or  anybody  to  make 
a  place  for  him. 

And  he  had  expected — yes,  really — to  take  at 
once  the  first,  main  place.  He  had  thought  that 
they  would  have  at  once  some  of  those  long,  inti- 
mate talks  that  had  brought  them  so — dan- 
gerously— close  together,  five  years  since;  and 
that  very  soon  they  would  arrive  at  an  under- 
standing. 

After  all,  it  was  rather  soon  to  judge.  This 
might  be  only  Elizabeth's  great  kindness,  or  tact — 
letting  him  find  his  own  level,  and  meanwhile  mak- 
ing him  feel  uncommitted.  He  was  in  her  house, 
and,  above  all,  she  was  now  free.  Something  of 
the  reserve  of  a  young  girl  was  perhaps  forced 
upon  her.  He  was  relieved — yet  in  a  way  dis- 
appointed, too.  If  a  frank  arrangement  could 
only  have  been  made!  He  thought  the  arrange- 

57 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ment    would    suit    him    very    well;     but    he    was 
emphatically  not  of  a  wooing  mind. 

He  returned  to  his  long  chair  on  the  terrace 
with  a  cigar  and  a  late  French  review,  but  did  not 
read.  The  languor  of  the  day  and  the  place  lay 
heavy  upon  him,  with  a  sweet  oppression.  It  was 
not  hot,  except  in  the  direct  sun,  and  there  was  a 
cool  breeze.  The  season,  in  fact,  was  very  late; 
spring  was  lingering  in  the  green  wheat  and  the 
black,  chilly  cypress.  But  the  saturated  quality  of 
the  Italian  air  was  as  deeply  relaxing  as  a  much 
greater  heat  in  America  would  have  been.  Carle- 
ton  gazed  up  at  the  lapis-lazuli  sky,  where  a  few 
white  clouds  floated  like  distended  sponges,  and 
where  even  the  most  deeply  blue  spaces  were  veiled 
with  moisture.  He  had  never  seen,  he  reflected,  a 
perfectly  clear  Italian  sky.  Saturation,  gravidity, 
richness  was  its  physical  quality,  and  the  mental 
atmosphere  of  the  land  as  well.  Infinite  richness 
of  association,  layer  upon  layer  of  lives  lived  out 
on  this  spot,  foundations  far  down  in  the  impene- 
trable deep,  built  up  slowly,  slowly,  to  make  a  little 
space  for  this  generation  to  live,  and  love,  and  die 
upon.  And  those  myriads  of  lives  had  left  Beauty 

58 


The  Eternal  Spring 

behind  them.  Beauty  everywhere — in  the  lines 
and  groups  of  cypresses,  in  stone  and  mortar,  paint 
and  plaster,  brick  and  bronze.  How  had  they 
done  it,  and  why  was  it  that  modern  Italy  had  the 
worst  taste  in  the  world?  .  .  .  And  was  it 
true  that  Clara  would  marry  Morelli?  She 
seemed  quite  an  American  young  lady,  in  spite 
of  her  foreign  bringing  up.  They  had  gone 
away  unchaperoned,  perfectly  as  a  matter  of 
course.  .  . 

They  came  back  in  about  half  an  hour,  and 
Morelli  rushed  off  with  a  vivacious  word  or  two 
for  Carleton,  who  had  risen.  He  hoped  that 
Clara  would  sit  down  and  talk  to  him,  and  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  she  did  so. 

He  was  struck  by  the  sadness  of  her  face.  Its 
physical  type  was  pensive,  poetic ;  it  was  extremely 
expressive,  and  just  now  it  expressed  a  melancholy 
by  far  too  intense  for  so  young  a  creature.  She 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  assume  any  cheerful- 
ness on  Carleton's  account,  or  to  smile  as  she  spoke 
in  subdued,  nervous  phrases.  He  asked  her 
whether  she  could  work  in  this  enervating  atmos- 
phere without  too  great  an  effort,  noting  the  while 

59 


The  Eternal  Spring 

that  she  looked  pale  and  tired;  noting,  also,  the 
velvety  softness  of  her  eyes,  whose  colour  he  could 
not  quite  make  out. 

"  It  does  take  more  effort  than  it  ought,  per- 
haps," she  acknowledged.  "  But  one  must  do 
something." 

"And  perhaps  it  would  be  harder  still  to  do 
something  less  interesting?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  do  you  like  playing  for  Mrs.  Craven's 
people,  as  she  tells  me  you  do  every  week?  " 

"  I  wish  to  play  before  people  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. I  suffer  from  stage-fright,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  know  if  it  can  be  overcome  in  that  way — 
hut  one  can  only  try." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Carleton  at  random, 
"  that  that  would  depend  a  good  deal  on  one's 
general  strength." 

4  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  And  yet  I  am  rather 
strong." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  dropped  all  work  and  got  into 
a  bracing  air  you  might  get  very  much  stronger — 
and  forget  your  nervousness." 

Clara  looked  at  him  gravely,  then  smiled  with 
60 


The  Eternal  Spring 

some  amusement.  Possibly  she  was  not  much  used 
to  just  this  tone — this  combination  of  obvious 
interest  in  her  as  a  person,  with  apparent  imperson- 
ality— nor  to  advice  so  frankly  offered. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  find  this  air 
so  very  enervating?  But  I  suppose  we  shall  none 
of  us  be  staying  here  long." 

"No?     Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  will  get  hot,  and  Mrs.  Craven  flies 
from  Florence  with  the  first  hot  days.  The  sum- 
mer is  unusually  late  this  year." 

"  And  where  do  you  all  go  then?  " 

"  I 'do  not  know.  Somewhere  up  in  the  hills,  I 
think, — at  least,  I  should  like  that  best, — some 
quiet  little  place.  My  mother  likes  rather  more 
amusement,  though,  so  we  may  go  to  Switzer- 
land." 

Carleton  could  not  help  smiling  at  this. 

"  Forgive  me,  but  you  talk  as  though  you  were  a 
hundred  and  ten,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you  like 
amusement?  " 

"  Some  kinds,"  said  Clara  indifferently. 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  me  what  kinds?" 

"  It  depends.  If  I  am  in  the  mood,  I  like  soci- 
61 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ety — if  it  is  gay  enough.  But  not  for  long.  I 
don't  like  to  be  on  parade  for  a  whole  day  even.  I 
don't  like  rushing  about." 

"  Of  course  not — '  Es  bildet  sich  ein  Talent  in 
der  Stille.' " 

"  Yes;  but  I  don't  take  my  Talent  so  seriously. 
It  is  only  a  pastime,  after  all." 

She  looked  away  as  she  said  this,  pressing  her 
full  lips  together.  Carleton  looked  curiously  at 
her.  There  was  more  than  an  undertone  of  bitter- 
ness in  the  last  speech.  He  referred  it  imme- 
diately to  what  Elizabeth  had  told  him  of — ambi- 
tion frustrated  by  physical  weakness.  He  felt  very 
sorry  for  her.  And  yet,  after  all,  why  could  she 
not  take  her  music  as  a  pastime  ?  Why  should  she 
want  a  professional  career?  She  was  a  young  girl, 
with  definite  and  unusual  charm — with  a  rare  kind 
of  beauty.  And  she  must  have  opportunities 
enough  in  society.  He  was  struck  as  he  had  not 
been  hitherto  by  the  elegance  of  her  dress.  It  was 
still  white — a  thin  embroidered  stuff, — and  she 
Wore  a  lacy  white  hat  that  curved  down  at  the  back 
and  rippled  in  shell-like  curves  over  her  black  hair. 
She  was  as  smart,  in  a  different  way,  as  her  mother. 

62 


The  Eternal  Spring 

And,  though  a  young  woman  with  a  hidden  grief, 
she  was  evidently  not  minded  to  waste  a  single  one 
of  her  attractions. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  best  pastime,  though — to 
make  beauty  live  and  breathe  again.  The  pastime 
of  the  gods — or  some  of  them — the  most  decent 
ones,"  he  laughed. 

"  Oh,  it  is  quite  a  respectable  occupation.  One 
might  do  much  worse,"  said  Clara.  "  It  is  rather 
exacting,  that  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  must  go  and 
rest  now — I  have  to  play  at  four." 

Carleton  walked  with  her  to  the  door,  and  went 
himself  into  the  drawing-room  to  look  about  at 
the  things  he  vaguely  remembered — the  pictures 
and  embroideries,  books  in  Sienese  bindings,  some 
carvings  of  value,  some  old  French  furniture. 
They  differed  from  the  spoil  heaped  up  in  the  rich 
houses  at  home,  in  that  there  were  not  too  many 
of  them ;  that  they  were  all  somehow  related,  and 
had  a  relation  to  the  room  and  the  house.  And, 
then,  they  all  reminded  Carleton  of  happy  days — 
here  at  the  villa  and  scattered  through  his  four 
Wanderjdhre,  when  he  had  floated  gaily  and  alone 
about  Europe,  tramping  through  the  country,  bur- 

63 


The  Eternal  Spring 

rowing  into  some  old  city,  enjoying  his  chance 
adventures,  feeding  full  his  senses,  loafing  and 
inviting  his  soul.  He  breathed  a  deep  sigh  to  feel 
how  far  out  of  reach  all  that  was  now — how  com- 
pletely he  had  left  his  youth  behind;  how  work 
and  responsibility — and  time,  doubtless — had 
taken  it  out  of  him. 

He  was  but  thirty,  to  be  sure,  and  Elizabeth 
must  be — yes,  he  knew  exactly  how  old  she  was, 
of  course.  She  had  told  him  that,  and  everything 
else,  in  the  old,  confidential  days.  Did  she  begin 
the  confidences  of  herself,  or  was  it  he,  with  his 
infernal  faculty  of  interest  in  other  people's  affairs, 
and  his  sympathy,  that  drew  her  out  and  on?  At 
any  rate,  he  had  very  soon  found  himself  consoler 
of  an  unhappy  wife,  in  a  marriage  that  was  no 
marriage. 

Elizabeth  was  a  Puritan,  body  and  soul.  All 
thai  was  uncontrolled  about  her  was  her  tongue. 
Therefore,  though  she  had  told  him  her  most  inti- 
mate affairs,  and  her  husband's,  and  they  had  spent 
many  long  hours  and  days  together  in  an  atmos- 
phere more  or  less  suffused  with  emotion,  though 
she  had  said  she  loved  him,  and  he  was  very  much 

64 


The  Eternal  Spring 

interested  in  her,  things  had  ended  just  there. 
Carleton  had  never  told  her,  either,  that  he  loved 
her;  because  he  did  not,  and  he  was  too  sincere 
and  self-conscious  to  confuse  matters,  or  to  be 
carried  away  by  a  moment's  feeling.  He  had  only 
two  things  to  regret  in  their  relation — it  had  pre- 
vented him  from  knowing  James  Craven  as  well 
as  he  would  have  liked  to  know  him,  and  it  had 
put  an  additional  shade  of  coolness,  at  the  time, 
between  husband  and  wife. 

Craven  had  been  extremely  interesting  to  him, 
intellectually;  a  scholar  he  was,  of  the  old  Floren- 
tine, or  pagan,  type;  a  man  who  had  as  good  a 
brain  as  Carleton  had  ever  encountered  with,  and 
as  good  a  heart  as,  in  the  French  phrase,  could  be 
made  out  of  brains.  Craven  had  been  calmly 
proud  of  retaining,  within  sight  of  his  eightieth 
year,  his  ability  to  work,  his  hair,  teeth,  eyesight, 
and  capacity  for  good  living.  He  had  been  fas- 
tidiously intolerant  of  any  physical  weakness  in 
other  people,  and  oddly  tolerant  of  emotional 
weakness,  so  long  as  it  did  not  disturb  the  full  and 
quiet  current  of  his  days.  He  had  given  Elizabeth 
perfect  freedom — and  an  atmosphere  to  live  in  as 

65 


The  Eternal  Spring 

warm  as  that  above  the  moon.  Elizabeth  had  not 
been  able  to  use  the  freedom  he  gave  her.  She 
was  an  idealist.  She  was  frozen,  starved,  by  his 
perfectly  pagan  spirit;  and  she  made  him,  at  times, 
uncomfortable  by  her  revolt.  Hence  his  coolness 
to  Carleton,  who  understood  that  Craven  had 
thought  his  part  in  the  menage  a  trois  ill-per- 
formed. Craven  had  made  it  perfectly  plain, 
however,  that  he,  Carleton,  was  welcome  in  the 
house.  All  the  old  man  had  wanted  was  to  be  left 
in  peace  among  his  treasures  and  his  little  daily 
enjoyments  of  food,  wine,  sunshine,  and  talk  with 
the  brother-savants  who  visited  him.  He  had  not 
wanted  to  talk  much  to  Carleton,  who  at  twenty- 
five  was  too  much  in  the  spirit  of  youth. 

Carleton's  regret  for  this  lack  of  interest  in  him, 
and  for  the  disturbances  he  caused,  was  honest  as 
the  day — he  had  immensely  irritated  Elizabeth, 
then,  by  expressing  it.  But  then  he  had  not  wanted 
to  make  himself  the  chief  person  in  her  life.  It 
was  Elizabeth  herself,  with  her  passionate  longing 
for  life,  love,  and  youth,  who  had  wished  that. 

At  dinner    that  night    Carleton  found  himself 
66 


The  Eternal  Spring 

alone  with  her,  in  the  big  room,  dimly  lit  and  full 
of  fragrance  from  the  garden.  She  was  dressed 
for  him  with  all  the  art  she  knew — in  black,  that 
brought  out  the  beautiful  colour  of  her  hair  and 
the  bright  fairness  of  her  shoulders  and  arms.  He 
saw  that  it  was  to  be  a  gay  occasion — Elizabeth's 
kind  of  gaiety — which  might  be  serious.  She  was 
glowing,  her  eyes  and  lips  brilliant;  every  motion, 
every  look,  spoke  her  intense  consciousness  of  him, 
her  pleasure  in  his  nearness. 

"  My  ladies,"  she  said  as  they  went  to  the  table, 
"  have  gone  out  to  dine.  It  isn't  very  often  that 
they're  asked  together — so  I  seize  the  chance  of 
a  good  talk  with  you.  .  .  .  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  we  used  to  talk?  Hours  and  hours.  You 
never  did  anything  else  in  those  days." 

"  No,  and  now  I  shall  do  nothing  else.  But 
perhaps  I've  lost  the  ability  to  talk." 

"  We  shall  see.  Now,  tell  me  first,  what  do  you 
think  of  me?  " 

"  I  think  you're  beautiful." 

"Ah!  do  you?  I'm  glad  you  can  say  it,  any- 
way! .  .  .  But  that's  not  what  I  mean.  I 
want  your  impression  as  a  whole — whether  I  have 

67 


The  Eternal  Spring 

changed;  what  you  think  of  me,  my  life,  the  place 
here,  the  people,  all "  she  ended  breath- 
lessly. 

"  I  can't  quite  put  all  those  together.  You — I 
can't  see  that  you've  changed.  At  first  I  thought 
you  more  calm,  more  quiet;  but  to-night  you  seem 
exactly  as  you  were — except  that  you're  hand- 
somer, I  think." 

"  I  thought  you  would  find  me  forlorn,  melan- 
choly, bored — all  that !  " 

"  If  you  are,  you  haven't  let  me  see  it.  You 
seem  to  me  to  be  occupied  and  content." 

"Content!" 

"  Not  exactly,  either,"  he  went  on  quickly,  "  for 
I  can  see  you're  halting  just  now.  I'm  convinced 
that  your  future  will  be  something  different  from 
this.  And  you  don't  yet  know  what  it  will  be.  Am 
I  right?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  Elizabeth,  "  I  do  feel  that. 
But,  then,  I've  always  felt  it!  I  mean  that  some- 
thing startling  would  come  into  my  life.  For 
years  it  seemed  to  me  perfectly  impossible  that  I 
could  go  on,  from  day  to  day,  as  I  was  doing,  so 
quietly,  in  such  monotony.  It  seemed  to  me  that 

68 


The  Eternal  Spring 

something  must  happen.  And  now  I  have  the 
feeling  of  romance,  of  infinite  possibilities,  just  as 
keenly.  ...  It  seems  to  me  that  I  haven't 
yet  begun  to  live — but  that  I  might  begin  at  any 
moment!  " 

Her  eyes,  rather  feverishly  bright,  met  his 
eagerly.  She  was  leaning  forward,  her  elbows  on 
the  table,  leaving  her  soup  untasted.  He  sat  at 
her  right,  and  this  proximity,  with  the  rest  of  the 
table  empty,  with  the  soft,  pure,  unshaded  flames 
of  the  Venetian  lamp  for  the  only  light  in  the 
room,  was  exciting  to  them  both. 

"  Ah,  now  I  recognize  you,  indeed!  "  he  cried. 
"  I  wondered  if  you  had  lost  your  sense  of  adven- 
ture— or  perhaps  satisfied  it." 

"  Neither !  I  have  it,  and  it  will  never  be  satis- 
fied. I  shall  die  without  living !  Oh,  how  I  hate, 
hate  to  grow  old!  I  am  thirty-eight!  " 

"  Don't  be  tragic  about  it.  I  don't  know  that 
the  literal  number  of  years  means  very  much." 

"  Oh,  Barry,  be  honest !  It  means  everything. 
It  means  as  much  to  me  as  it  does  to  Augusta 
Langham !  More,  perhaps,  for  she  has  had  the 
joy  of  her  beauty,  even  if  she  has  to  lose  it — and 

69 


The  Eternal  Spring 

I,  what  have  I  had?  I  am  losing  my  chance — 
that's  all  I  have  ever  had,  a  chance !  And  I  am 
losing  that !  "  ' 

"  Elizabeth,  I  could  imagine  I  had  never  left 
La  Fontanella !  This  is  exactly  as  it  used  to 
be." 

"  Yes,  when  James  had  gone  out  to  some  deadly 
old  historical  dinner!  Ah,  poor  man!  he  hadn't 
much  peace  with  me." 

She  was  silent  a  moment;  put  out  her  hand  for 
her  glass  of  champagne,  and  drank  it  slowly. 

"  How  tragic  life  is.  Some  of  us  live  too  long 
— and  we  grow  old  .  .  .  and  then  we  drop 
out,  and  it  is  as  though  we  had  never  lived.  Youth 
is  the  only  thing  that  matters — the  only  happiness ! 
And  I  threw  mine  away." 

Roberto  took  the  soup  plates;  and  Elizabeth 
had  to  help  herself  to  meat  and  vegetables.  She 
went  on  talking,  in  the  security  of  her  alien  tongue, 
putting  no  guard,  however,  on  her  look  and  man- 
ner. Her  former  quiet  was  gone,  like  a  thin  crust 
of  ice  before  the  sun;  she  was  as  restlessly  vehe- 
ment as  ever. 

"  I  spent  all  my  life  with  old  people.  First  my 
70 


The  Eternal  Spring 

father — I  can't  remember  him  when  he  wasn't  old; 
then  my  husband — I  doubt  if  he  was  ever  young. 
.  .  .  He  was  like  another  father.  And  so  I 
am  younger  now  than  I  have  any  right  to  be,  and 
I  suffer  for  it.  I  ought  to  be  settled  now.  I  ought 
to  have  lived  my  life.  And  I  have  never  had  it. 
How  I  envy  you,  Barry!  " 

"And  why,  pray?  " 

'  Why,  because  you  are  young,  and  a  man,  and 
can  choose " 

"  I  am  not  young  any  more.  You  said  it  your- 
self yesterday.  I'm  a  hundred  and  fifty." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  absurd !  Don't  put  on  the  air  of 
a  greybeard,  just  because  you  happen  to  be  a  little 
fagged.  I  won't  have  you  grow  old.  ...  I 
believe  you  have  had  some  experience  that  you 
haven't  told  me — some  serious  affair." 

Carleton  laughed  gaily. 

"  On  my  honour,  I  haven't.     But " 

"But  what?  Tell  me  what  has  happened  to 
you — do  tell  me !  How  can  we  go  on,  with  all 
this  gulf  of  years  between  us?  You  are  a  stranger 
to  me  now.  I  used  to  feel  that  I  knew  you,  knew 
your  heart.  You  were  transparent,  clear,  nothing 


The  Eternal  Spring 

had  touched  you.  No  woman  had  had  as  much  of 
you  as  I  had,  then.  But  now!  There  is  some- 
thing, I  know.  ...  In  five  years  I  " 

"  Nothing,  honestly — nothing  important !  " 

"'But?1    You  said 'but' " 

"  *  But  you'  I  started  to  say !  " 

"  And  you  have  not — you  really  haven't — 
fallen  in  love  with  anyone — not  even  yet?  You've 
never  been  in  love?  " 

"  Not,  at  any  rate,  since  I  left  you." 

"  And  you  are  thirty  years  old!  What  are  you 
waiting  for,  Barry?  " 

"  For  you,  I  think,  Elizabeth." 

She  drank  off  her  wine  hastily.      Her  hands 
shook,   her  colour  rose,   and   for  a  moment  she 
could  not  meet  his  eyes. 
•    "  It  isn't  fair  of  you,"  she  murmured. 

"  Why?  Not  fair?  Is  there  anything  on  your 
side?  In  all  these  years?" 

"  You  need  not  ask — and  you  know  it." 

"  Then  your  fate  is  still  to  come." 

"  My  fate?  My  fate  is  to  wither  up  here  at  La 
Fontanella.  Who  would  care  for  me  now  ?  " 

"  I  would,"  said  Carleton. 
72 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Ah,  we're  talking  a  different  language.  Who 
would  love  me?  Would  you?  Ah,  no!  you  are 
too  old,  too  tired,  isn't  that  it?  You  would  come 
to  me  and  say,  '  Here,  we  two  middle-aged  people 
may  as  well  plod  on  the  rest  of  the  way  together.' 
Isn't  that  what  you  feel?  " 

She  stopped.  Her  eyes  glittered;  she  looked 
straight  at  him  now,  and  he  cooled. 

"  No  matter  what  I  feel,"  he  said,  addressing 
himself  to  his  dinner,  which  had  been  much  neg- 
lected, "  I  don't  intend  to  tell  you  now." 

Elizabeth  laughed  nervously. 

"  No,  ...  of  course  not.  You  are  honest, 
Barry,  and  I  love  you  for  it.  You  are  dear  to  me 
— very  dear.  And  you  haven't  changed.  At  first 
I  thought  I  had  lost  you ;  but  now  I  feel  that  you 
are  just  as  you  were,  that  you  still  like  me  a  little; 
all  is  as  it  should  be.  We  shall  have  some  happy 
times  together — and  when  I  go  for  the  summer 
you  will  come,  too,  won't  you?  I'd  thought  of 
going  to  England " 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  of  course,  if  you'll  take  me. 
Elizabeth,  you  know  you're  more  interesting  to 
me  than  anyone  in  the  world." 

73 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Am  I,  am  I  Barry?  But  it  won't  always 
be  so.  ...  You'll  fall  in  love,  and 
then " 

"  That  idea  haunts  you,  Elizabeth.  Will  any- 
thing happen  to  me  that  hasn't  already  hap- 
pened? " 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes!  .  .  .  Just  the  fact  that  all 
these  years  you  haven't  had  any  serious  affair — 
that  you've  never  had  any — shows  what  it  will  be 
when  you  do." 

"What  will  it  be,  dear?  How  shall  I  know? 
Shall  I  turn  green,  or  blue,  lose  my  appetite, 
or " 

"  Oh,  you  can  jest  at  scars — it  only  shows  how 
untouched  you  are!  Honestly,  haven't  you  yet 
seen  a  woman  you  want  to  marry?  " 

"  None  but  you." 

"Never!  I  wouldn't  marry  you,  Barry,  unless 
you  were  in  love  with  me.  Another  man  I  might, 
but  not  you.  .  .  ." 

She  drank  a  third  glass  of  champagne,  and  put 
her  hand  on  his. 

"  But  do  stay  with  me  till  you  fall  in  love!  I 
won't  bore  you.  You  know  I'm  very,  very  fond 

74 


The  Eternal  Spring 

of  you.  But  love — !  On  ne  badine  pas  avec 
V  Amour!  .  .  ." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  had  grown  brightly  misty. 

"  We  shall  have  many  little  dinners  like  this," 
she  said.  "  I  adore  dining  with  you.  It's  just  as 
it  used  to  be — I  wouldn't  have  believed  that  it 
could  be !  But  you  are  the  same.  I  love  you, 
because  you  are  so  good.  I  feel  that  you  under- 
stand me,  that  you  really  know,  no  matter  what  I 
say  or  do;  and  you  treat  me,  too,  as  another 
human  being,  not  just  as  a  woman " 

Here  she  bent  forward  and  kissed  his  cheek. 

"  Elizabeth !  "    he  murmured. 

Roberto  came  in  to  put  the  dessert  on  the  table. 
Elizabeth  had  not  eaten  much;  but  now  she  took 
some  fruit  and  ate  it  thirstily,  and  drank  yet 
another  glass  of  champagne. 

"  Elizabeth — we  must  always  be  together," 
murmured  Carleton. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Till — the  deluge !  Come,  let  us  go  up  and 
have  coffee!  .  .  .  How  sweet  that  jasmine  is!  " 

She  got  up,  and  paused,  leaning  against  the 
casement. 

75 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Let  us  go  this  way,"  Carleton  said. 

She  took  his  arm,  and  they  went  out  on  the  bal- 
cony and  down  the  steps  into  the  garden.  The 
night  was  rather  dark,  in  spite  of  the  stars  and  a 
ridiculously  young  moon  that  tilted  its  thin,  silver 
line  above  the  long,  tiled  roof  of  the  tool-house  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden.  There  were  many  night- 
moths  about,  and  bats,  and  a  few  fireflies  in  the 
grass.  The  air  was  cool.  Clouds  were  gathering 
that  looked  like  rain.  Elizabeth  pressed  close  to 
Carleton  and  shivered. 

"  You're  cold,"  he  said,  stopping.  "  Come 
back." 

"No.  Let's  go  on;  but  we  won't  sit  down. 
The  air  is  chilly.  .  .  ." 

They  stopped  a  moment  by  the  fountain,  and 
Elizabeth  suddenly  bent  down  and  plunged  her 
hands  into  the  water. 

"  Ah,  how  cold  it  is!  "  she  cried.  "  Give  me 
your  handkerchief,  Barry  I  " 

She  shivered  as  she  dried  her  hands. 

"  Come  in  now,"  he  said  authoritatively,  and 
he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  away. 

"  You  need  somebody  to  take  care  of  you,  that's 
clear." 

76 


Elizabeth   suddenly  bent  down   and  plunged  her  hands  into 
the  water." 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  The  jasmine !  "  she  murmured,  stopping  once 
more.  "  It's  too  sweet — I  don't  like  it!  .  .  ." 

They  went  on,  out  of  the  garden  and  round  by 
the  hall  to  the  library.  Here  coffee  was  set  out, 
and  Elizabeth  poured  it,  and  began  to  smoke  in 
silence.  Her  colour  had  faded  by  now,  and  the 
sudden  reaction  from  her  mood  of  expansiveness, 
which  was  hers  alone,  had  come. 

"  England,"  she  said  finally  in  a  low  voice.  "  I 
wonder  how  it  would  do  for  you — the  summer 
there.  Would  you  like  it,  I  wonder?  " 

"Why  not?  Or  perhaps,"  said  Carleton, 
"  some  little  place  up  here  in  the  hills?  Are  the 
Langhams  to  be  with  you?  " 

"No — why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  wondered  if  they  were  a  permanent  attach- 
ment." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  should  like  to  give  Clara 
a  home — something  she's  never  had,  poor  child! 
But  I  could  not  stand  Augusta — nor  could  she 
stand  me.  She  would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  Clara; 
but  Clara  will  not  leave  her.  She  has  resolved 
never  to  marry." 

"Out   of   devotion    for  the   mother?      But   I 

thought  you  said " 

77 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  it  was  only  my  hope  that  she  would  marry 
Morelli.  .  .  .  Barry,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
about  the  Langhams  now,  for  you'll  hear  the 
pretty  story  from  some  of  our  gossips  soon." 

"  Ah !   there  is  a  story,  then.     She  looks  it." 

"  Augusta  ?  Yes.  Oh,  she  has — or  had — an 
international  fame.  And  it  isn't  to  be  lived  down. 
The  name  doesn't  mean  anything  to  you  ?  " 

Carleton  shook  his  head  and  she  talked  on  with 
nervous  rapidity. 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  remember.  It  was  fifteen 
years  ago  that  the  thing  happened,  at  Mentone. 
Charles  Langham  shot  and  killed  a  young  Italian, 
Giulio  Malaspina,  and  killed  himself.  Both  died 
instantly.  Malaspina  had  made  himself  fearfully 
conspicuous  with  Augusta.  You  can  imagine  what 
she  was  then,  to  look  at.  He  was  madly  in  love 
with  her — and  so,  unfortunately,  was  her  husband. 
He  was  a  man  of  intensely  emotional  nature,  so  I 
heard,  and  more  than  a  little  unbalanced  mentally. 
At  least  his  jealousy  is  supposed  to  have  unbalanced 
him  quite.  That  he  was  insane  at  the  time, 
Augusta  has  firmly  insisted;  and  there  is  more  or 
less  evidence  to  bear  her  out,  I  suppose,  in  the  way 

78 


The  Eternal  Spring 

it  happened.  Whether  Langham's  suspicion  of 
her  was  founded  or  not,  I  don't  know;  but,  in  any 
case,  she  was  incredibly  foolish.  Of  course,  she 
was  ruined  socially.  The  scandal  was  everywhere. 
Her  own  family  absolutely  threw  her  off — Mr. 
Craven  among  others.  He  never  mentioned  her 
to  me.  This  happened,  of  course,  before  my  mar- 
riage. But  other  people  told  me  the  story — as 
they  ahvays  do,  you  know." 

Carleton  nodded  in  silence. 

"  Clara,  I  am  told,  is  exactly  like  her  father," 
Elizabeth  went  on.  "  The  same  excitable  and 
melancholy  temperament,  the  same  sensitiveness. 
I  have  met  people  who  knew  him,  and  who,  when 
they  ventured  to  speak  of  him,  couldn't  say  enough 
in  praise  of  him.  He  seems  to  have  had  a  charm- 
ing personality,  and  friends  everywhere.  And  this 
was  one  thing  that  made  it  so  impossible  for 
Augusta  afterward.  .  .  .  Of  course,  if  he 
was  insane,  and  had  merely  imagined  it  all,  it  has 
been  a  terrible  injustice  to  her.  For  the  world 
believes  that  she  was  responsible,  at  any  rate,  for 
the  tragedy." 

"  And  Hara?  "  said  Carleton. 

79 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  She  believes,  for  all  one  knows,  her  mother's 
version.  She  is  consistent  about  it.  She  not  only 
insists  that  her  mother  shall  be  received  every- 
where she  is,  but  she  appears  to  think  her  possible 
inheritance  of  insanity  a  reason  for  not  marrying." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  murmured  Carleton.  "  And 
is  that  what  she  carries  about  with  her?  No  won- 
der she — what  a  horrible  story." 

"  Ah,  I  remember  you  never  liked  to  hear 
tragedies.  But  this,  you  see,  you  must  have  heard, 
anyhow.  All  our  dear  people  about  here  know  it. 
Some  of  them  have  even  remonstrated  with  me  for 
having  her  stay  here.  It  isn't  that  they're  all  so 
awfully  conventional,  either;  but  she's  disliked. 
Augusta  doesn't  humble  herself,  as  you  see.  Not 
that  they'd  like  her  any  better  if  she  did.  But 
they'd  like  to  humble  her — for  one  thing,  on 
account  of  her  beauty,  I  suppose.  It's  a  pity  she's 
had  to  waste  it  all  these  years,  isn't  it,  living  in 
the  shade?" 

"  A  great  pity,"  said  Carleton  harshly. 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  with  sharp  scrutiny. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  told  you  to-night,"  she  said  petu- 
lantly. "  I  remember  you  always  used  to  be  upset 

80 


The  Eternal  Spring 

by  that  sort  of  thing — '  hard-luck  stories,'  as  you 
called  them.     It  is  hard  luck  for  Clara. 
You  haven't  said  how  you  liked  her  playing." 

"  I  liked  it  very  much,"  said  Carleton  with  an 
effort.  "  But  wasn't  that  Bach  thing  rather  heavy, 
for  the  audience?  " 

"  She  doesn't  do  it  for  the  audience.  Anyhow, 
it  conies  to  be  educated.  This  is  the  third  Friday 
I've  had  her  play  the  Bach  thing.  They're  begin- 
ning to  listen  to  it  now.  I  saw  that  you  really 
listened." 

'  Yes.  I'm  partly  educated.  Chicago's  a  mu- 
sical place,  you  know.  I  belong  to  the  half  of  it 
that  subscribes  to  concerts." 

The  sentimental  mood  was  quite  gone.  Eliza- 
beth tried  to  recapture  it,  but  in  vain.  Again  and 
again  she  regretted  the  move  that  had,  she 
thought,  spoiled  it  all;  but  to  this  she  made  no 
further  allusion.  The  effect  on  Carleton  had 
rather  frightened  her.  An  instinct  that  lurked 
(when  it  did  not  rage)  in  her,  a  perpetually  watch- 
ful jealousy,  was  roused  by  his  visible  discomfort. 


81 


CHAPTER  V 

AD  Carleton  himself  was  surprised  by  the 
impact  of  this  story  about  Clara.  He  had 
a  vivid  imagination,  which  often  played 
him  the  trick  of  involving  his  sympathies  in  other 
people's  affairs.  But  to  start  the  picture-making 
in  his  brain,  some  interest  in  the  other  people  was 
required.  Well,  and  did  not  Clara  interest  him? 
He  had  to  confess  that  she  did.  He  had  said  to 
himself,  by  the  time  she  had  finished  playing,  that 
afternoon,  that  she  was  an  exquisite  thing  to  look 
at.  The  steady  attention  which  he  gave  her  at 
that  time  might  be  laid  to  the  account  of  the  music, 
as  he  was  aware,  when  he  seized  the  opportunity. 
She  was,  then,  very  charming  to  look  at.  And 
her  manner  pleased  him.  It  had  a  softness  which 
seemed  at  first  like  shyness,  and  gave  her  a  foreign 
air.  Her  personality  completely  escaped  the  gen- 
eral obviousness  of  her  countrywomen — the  qual- 
ity that  was  writ  large  on,  for  example,  Mrs. 
Langham.  Clara  had  no  desire  to  hit  one  between 

82 


The  Eternal  Spring 

the  eyes.  She  had  the  grace  of  women  who  have 
been  docile  to  control,  who  have  learned  to  express 
their  individuality  thoroughly  within  set  limits. 
There  was  rhyme  and  rhythm  in  her.  She  was 
poetry,  as  opposed  to  the  prose  of  ordinary 

This  was  the  imagination  at  work!  Carleton 
realized  it  and  pulled  himself  up  with  a  laugh. 
But  he  went  on  thinking  about  her.  It  was  after 
he  had  parted  from  Elizabeth.  They  had  talked 
for  an  hour  longer  in  the  library,  mainly  about 
Craven's  literary  remains — a  volume  of  essays  and 
an  unfinished  history  of  the  Italian  Republics, 
which  was  being  prepared  for  the  press  by  his 
English  executor.  Then  she  had  gone  to  write 
some  letters,  laughingly  confessing,  as  she  bade 
him  good-night,  that  she  kept  up  her  old  habit  of 
promiscuous  correspondence. 

"  Not  all  of  my  friends  drop  me — as  you  did," 
was  her  last  word. 

Carleton  thought  he  had  replied  to  this  before. 
He  went  outdoors  and  walked  about  the  garden, 
smoking  slowly.  The  sky  was  overcast  now,  and 
rain  was  in  the  air.  He  resolved  to  go  down  next 
day  to  the  Ufizi. 

83 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Clara  was  still  in  his  mind.  He  went  over  the 
story  that  Elizabeth  had  told,  filling  out  the  bare 
sketch,  picturing  the  tragedy.  .  .  .  Fifteen 
years  ago — she  must  have  been  about  eight  at  the 
time.  And  afterwards — between  that  time  and 
this — what  had  her  life  been?  "Living  about" 
with  a  mother  who  was  "  socially  ruined  "  and  dis- 
owned by  her  family.  And  how  had  she  got  her 
education,  her  manners,  her  way  of  meeting  the 
world?  She  seemed  like  a  girl  who  had  been 
sheltered 

And  yet,  did  she,  after  all?  No,  she  had  none 
of  the  light-heartedness  that  should  have  been 
hers.  Her  sadness  was  real,  and  there  was  a 
deeper  reason  for  it  than  the  hindering  of  her 
musical  ambition.  If  she  was  stopped  there,  and 
if  she  felt  that  she  could  not  marry,  and  must  go 
on  living  with  her  selfish  beast  of  a  mother,  there 
could  not  be  much  in  life,  truly,  for  her.  And  she 
was  full  of  life,  full  of  possibilities. 

But  was  there  any  reason  why  she  should  not 
marry?  That  question  seemed  not  to  have  been 
answered  definitely.  But  someone  must  be  able 
to  answer  it.  Someone  must  know  what  her 

84 


The  Eternal  Spring 

chances  were,  supposing  that  the  father's  insanity 
were  proved!  Her  chances!  Carleton  shivered 
as  he  thought  what  those  chances  might  be.  He 
thought  of  a  man  whom  he  had  known  at  college, 
and  later — a  brilliant  mind  wrecked  by  periodic 
frenzy.  Poor  Colby  was  the  victim  of  misplaced 
optimism  on  the  part  of  his  parents.  There  was 
the  taint  of  insanity  on  both  sides  of  his  house. 
His  sister  had  killed  herself  out  of  fear  of  the 
family  curse. 

These  things  were  rather  too  awful  to  think 
about.  And  to  think  of  them  in  connection  with 
that  charming  girl!  He  knew  that  her  father 
might  be  as  mad  as  a  hatter,  however,  without 
necessarily  involving  her.  That  outbreak  of  homi- 
cidal frenzy,  that  tragedy  at  Mentone,  might  have 
no  consequences  for  her.  .  .  .  No,  that  was 
not  quite  right.  Consequences  there  must  be.  She 
had  been  living  in  the  shadow  of  them  ever  since. 
And  if  there  were  also  the  blacker  shadow  of 

T"  f"*1   ** 

1  C«.  I  ^^ 

Carleton  threw  away  his  cigar  half-smoked  and 
started  for  the  house,  intending  to  read  something 
cheerful  for  an  hour  or  so.  As  he  mounted  the 

85 


The  Eternal  Spring 

steps  he  heard  the  carriage;  and  he  overtook  Mrs. 
Langham  and  Clara,  returned  from  their  dinner, 
in  the  hall.  Mrs.  Langham,  wrapped  in  a  cloak 
of  brocade,  was  ascending  the  stairs.  Clara  had 
stopped  to  take  off  her  wrap,  which  was  slipping 
off  her  shoulders.  She  had  dropped  a  long,  filmy 
scarf.  Carleton  picked  it  up,  and  took  her  cloak, 
which  she  trailed  on  the  floor. 

"  I  drop  everything,"  she  said  with  a  light  sigh. 
"  Oh,  how  tired  I  am!" 

"  You  are  always  tired,  Clara,"  said  her  mother, 
sweeping  majestically  ahead. 

Clara  went  up  slowly,  her  hand  on  the  stair-rail, 
her  head  bent.  Carleton  now  saw  her  in  formal 
evening-dress.  Her  beautiful  young  shoulders 
were  bare,  and  her  arms.  She  had  a  string  of 
small  pearls  round  her  throat,  and  a  jewelled  but- 
terfly in  her  hair.  Carleton  adored  women  in 
white;  Clara  apparently  never  wore  anything 
else.  Her  cloak  was  white  also,  her  scarf,  her 
long  gloves.  She  had  one  glove  on,  and  held 
the  other  in  her  hand;  and  presently  she 
dropped  that,  too,  unheeding,  and  Carleton 
picked  it  up. 

86 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Mrs.  Langham  stopped  opposite  the  library 
door. 

"  It's  much  too  early  to  go  to  bed — and  besides, 
I  am  hungry,"  she  announced.  "  Do  come  in,  Mr. 
Carleton.  Is  Elizabeth  about?  " 

Carleton  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  waited 
for  Clara.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said: 
"  I  think  I'm  too  tired." 

"  Yes,  child;  go  to  bed,"  called  her  mother. 

Clara  took  her  wraps  from  Carleton,  and  gave 
him  a  glance  that  said  various  things.  It  was 
lightly  melancholy,  questioning,  appealing.  It 
struck  him  that  she  guessed  she  had  been  talked 
over — and  also  that  she  was  decidedly  not  without 
coquetry.  He  followed  Mrs.  Langham  into  the 
library,  and  at  her  request  rang  the  bell. 

"  I  am  simply  starving,"  she  said  pathetically. 
"  We  have  been  to  dine  with  some  Italian  friends 
of  Clara's — and  they  don't  dine,  according  to  our 
ideas.  That's  what  Morelli  says:  'You  go  to 
see  beautiful  old  plate,  beautiful  dishes,  nice  peo- 
ple, but  not  to  dine — oh,  no !  '  And  I  drank  tea 
afterward,  and  now  I  shall  not  sleep." 

Roberto    appeared,    and   she   asked   him    in   a 


The  Eternal  Spring 

fatigued  tone  for  something  to  eat.  He  listened, 
bowed,  and  disappeared,  in  a  manner  which  con- 
veyed a  sense  of  imposition.  It  was  not  usual  at 
La  Fontanella  to  ask  for  meals  at  eleven  o'clock 
at  night. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  light  the  fire?  "  en- 
quired the  lady  of  Carleton.  "  He  won't  come 
back  for  half  an  hour." 

Carleton,  amused  at  being  found  available 
after  all,  put  a  match  to  the  logs  laid  ready  in  the 
great  stone  fireplace. 

"  Mrs.  Craven  has  gone  to  write  letters,"  he 
observed. 

"  Ah,  well,  I  shan't  disturb  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Langham.  "  Perhaps  you  will  share  my  supper?  " 

"No  supper,  thanks;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to 
stay." 

"  Very  well,  provided  you  will  smoke,  or  some- 
thing. I  couldn't  stand  your  just  sitting  and  look- 
ing at  me;  it  would  destroy  my  appetite.  Get 
Roberto  to  bring  you  some  whiskey  and  water." 

"  I  shall  obey." 

Carleton  rearranged  the  logs,  and  the  flame  shot 
up  about  them.  Mrs.  Langham  had  been  stand- 

88 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ing  on  the  stone  step  under  the  chimney-piece. 
Now  she  moved  down,  and  in  a  moment  more 
threw  off  her  purple  mantle,  which  she  had  held 
about  her.  She  wore  a  dress  of  black  velvet, 
embroidered  at  irregular  intervals  with  gold 
figures;  her  black  hair  was  braided  into  a  crown 
above  her  low  forehead. 

She  sat  down  in  a  high-backed  brocaded  chair, 
and  the  train  of  her  dress  tumbled  about  her  feet 
in  deep  folds. 

"  Really,  who  would  think  it  could  be  so  cold 
in  May?  "  she  said,  looking  at  the  fire,  and  pre- 
senting her  profile  to  him. 

Carleton  looked  at  her,  and  felt  himself  rather 
an  inadequate  audience.  It  was  like  a  glittering 
show  being  given  to  empty  benches.  He  felt  apol- 
ogetic. 

"And  how  did  you  and  Bessie  get  on?"  she 
demanded  suddenly. 

"  Quite  peaceably,  thank  you." 

Carleton  gave  a  little  more  attention  to  the 
fire,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  step  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"  I  call  her  Bessie  because,  somehow,  it  suits 
her.  She's  girlish — don't  you  know  ?  But  I  think 

89 


The  Eternal  Spring 

you  must  have  quarrelled,  else  why  were  you 
moping  about  the  garden  alone?  That's  the  worst 
of  seeing  old  friends  again.  One  oughtn't  to  try 
it,  really." 

"  Perhaps  there  ought  to  be  a  time-limit,"  sug- 
gested Carleton.  "  Say  ten  years.  Not  to  know 
anybody  longer  than  ten  years." 

"  Good  heavens,  why  ten?  I  should  say  five — 
or  three.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  one  year  would  be 
enough  for  most  people,  including  relatives.  Rela- 
tives, of  course,  include  husbands  and  wives. 
But,  you  know,  people  do  get  shockingly 
out  of  date.  And  there  is  nothing  more  disheart- 
ening than  to  meet  persons  you've  known  well  at 
one  time — and  hear  them  say  exactly  the  same 
things,  and  all  that.  People  don't  get  any  new 
ideas  after  a  certain  age.  And  even  gossip,  you 
know,  scandal,  and  so  on — there's  nothing  new 
about  that,  either.  People  all  do  the  same 
things." 

She  was  looking  down  at  Carleton  now,  her 
eyes  a  shining  line  of  black  between  thick  lashes. 

"  It  is  a  dull  world,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"  Well,  it  is.  The  amount  of  ennui  it  contains 
90 


The  Eternal  Spring 

is  something  frightful.  It  is  a  beast  of  a  world. 
If  you  are  not  bored,  it  is  only  because  you're 
something  worse.  .  .  .  Did  you  know  my 
cousin  James?  " 

"  Craven,  you  mean  ?    Oh,  yes,  a  little." 

"  I  remember  him  a  long-winded  old  gentle- 
man when  I  was  at  home.  He  was  my  mother's 
second  cousin,  or  something.  He  must  have  been 
a  hundred  when  he  died." 

"  He  was  about  eighty,  I  think." 

"  Well,  that  is  old  enough !  Fancy  having  a 
husband  of  eighty !  Poor,  dear  Elizabeth  was  an 
angel  to  him,  I  don't  doubt.  She  really  is  a  good 
creature.  Clara  is  fond  of  her — else  I  suppose 
we  shouldn't  be  here.  .  .  .  Ah,  yes,  there  is 
another  reason,  too,  for  I  am  terribly  poor  this 
year,  and  hotels  are  so  expensive.  My  lawyers  in 
America  write  me  the  most  discouraging  letters. 
They  are  stupid,  old-fashioned  people.  I  should 
like  to  get  a  new  one.  Do  you  know  any  very 
good  one  ?  The  trouble  is,  my  property  is  mostly 
in  the  South — East  Virginia,  or  is  it  West?  Some- 
times I  think  I  ought  to  go  back  to  see  about  it; 
but,  then,  I  know  nothing  of  business.  You  are  in 

91 


The  Eternal  Spring 

the  Government,  aren't  you,  or  in  politics  of  some 
sort?" 

Carleton  laughed.  "  I  am — or  was — an 
humble  newspaper  man.  Now  I'm  nothing 
at  all." 

"  But  Elizabeth  said She  didn't  say  much 

about  you,  to  be  sure,  so  we  were  the  more  curious. 
But  I'm  sure  she  said  you  were  in  politics." 

"  Well,  the  newspapers  have  more  or  less  inter- 
est in  that  sort  of  thing.  Oh,  I  suppose  I  helped 
elect  a  Mayor — perhaps  a  Governor.  But  what 
does  that  amount  to?  There's  no  glory  in  it" 

'  You  Americans  are  so  modest !  One  has  to 
find  out  about  you  from  somebody  else.  Now, 
even  an  Englishman  will  tell  you  what  he  has  done 
— and  a  Frenchman  or  Italian  will  tell  you  much 
more.  How  do  you  like  Morelli?  " 

'  Very  much — at  first  sight.  I  should  think  he 
must  be  an  able  fellow." 

"  He  is.  But  there  is  so  little  chance  for  a  live 
man  here  in  this  dead  old  country.  He  can't  pos- 
sibly make  any  money.  I've  been  urging  him  to 
go  somewhere  else.  Do  you  think  he'd  get  on  in 
America  ?  " 

92 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Professionally,  you  mean  ?  I  should  think  he 
would.  He's  clever  with  people,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  but  he  hates  the  practising  part  of  it.  It's 
the  theory  he  likes — that's  what  he's  always  say- 
ing. He  wants  to  have  a  laboratory  and  write 
books,  and  get  laws  passed  to  benefit  the  working- 
people,  and  all  that.  What  he  ought  to  do  is  to 
marry  a  rich  woman.  But  instead  he  wishes  to 
marry  Clara." 

At  this  point  Roberto  entered  with  a  large  tray. 
He  moved  a  table  to  Mrs.  Langham's  side,  and  set 
the  tray  on  it — with  more  noise  and  less  grace  than 
he  usually  thought  proper. 

"  Ah,  salad,  too — really,  that's  quite  nice ! 
Grazia  tanto,  Roberto,  e  porta  whiskey  per  il 
Signore,  prego." 

Roberto  gave  Carleton  a  special  bow,  and 
fetched  the  whiskey  with  alacrity. 

Mrs.  Langham  poured  herself  a  glass  of  claret, 
and  began  to  eat,  with  the  stalwart  appetite  Carle- 
ton  had  previously  remarked  in  her.  Suddenly 
she  looked  almost  content.  The  glow  of  the  fire 
had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it;  she  showed  a  cat- 
like enjoyment  of  the  heat. 

93 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on  presently,  "  and  Elizabeth 
has  tried  to  make  the  match.  It's  a  mistake,  for 
Clara,  too,  ought  to  marry  a  rich  man.  Her  little 
money  is  only  enough  to  dress  her  and  pay  for  her 
music.  But " — she  shrugged  her  generous  shoul- 
ders, polished,  white,  frankly  exhibited — "  when 
people  make  up  their  minds  to  do  a  foolish 
thing — "  A  mouthful  of  chicken  stopped  the  rest. 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  marry  him?  "  Carleton 
found  himself  asking,  to  his  great  astonishment. 

"  I  think  so.  When  a  man  makes  up  his  mind 
to  marry  a  woman  he  can  always  do  it — if  there  is 
no  other  man.  .  .  .  Such  is  your  strength — 
brutal  creatures  that  you  are ! — or  our  weakness." 

Another  glass  of  claret;  and  two  velvet-black 
eyes  looking  down  at  Carleton  over  the  rim. 

"  Then  we  are  responsible,  whatever  happens — 
v/hether  we  marry  you  or  not?  " 

"Eh?  Exactly,  you  are  responsible.  The 
stronger  person  is  always  to  blame  if  he  does  not 
control  the  weaker.  And  if  he  does,  and  makes 
mistakes,  he  is  still  to  blame.  But  the  last  is  better 
than  the  first.  It  is  better  for  a  woman  to  be  mar- 
ried to  a  strong  man,  no  matter  what  comes  of  it. 

94 


The  Eternal  Spring 

We  are  all  slaves  at  heart !  But  you  American 
men  do  not  understand  that!  American  women 
want  equality — and  by  that  they  mean  the  right  to 
treat  their  husbands  as  the  Ruspoli  tries  to  treat 
hers.  It  is  a  pity  that  wife-beating  has  gone  out  of 
fashion.  There  would  be  fewer  nerves  if  it  was 
the  custom  now.  But  people  are  all  made  of  straw 
and  paper  nowadays.  '  Nowadays !  '  I 

talk  like  a  grandmother,  don't  I  ?  And  you  never 
talk  at  all,  do  you?" 

"  Sometimes  I  like  to  listen." 

"  I  can't  see  why  you  should  want  to  listen  to 
me.  Elizabeth  says  I  do  nothing  but  scold — 

*  rail,'  as  she  puts  it, — abuse  everybody  and  every- 
thing.   Well,  so  I  do.     I  read  a  story  by  Tolstoi 
the  other  day — I  like  Russian  stories,  when  they're 
not  about  peasants  or  politics.     This  was  called 

*  Two  Generations.'  There  was  a  father,  a  Russian 
of  the  old  school,  a  real  eighteenth  century  person 
— a  tremendous  gambler  and  drinker,  making  love 
to  all  the  women,  full  of  life  and  gaiety — really  a 
delicious  creature !     Then  his  son,  twenty  years 
later,  a  correct,  respectable  young  man — he  visits 
a  woman  who  had  had  a  love-affair  with  the  father, 

95 


The  Eternal  Spring 

had  been  loved  and  left,  all  in  a  rush,  and  was  still 
in  love  with  his  memory !  Well,  the  son 

wins  the  old  lady's  money  at  cards,  in  a  correct, 
respectable  manner,  and  goes  away.  .  .  . 
That's  all  of  the  story;  isn't  it  pretty?  I  wish  I 
had  been  born  a  Russian.  It's  a  fascinating  coun- 
try. Have  you  ever  been  there?  I  love  every- 
thing Russian — people,  books,  music.  I  can  never 
get  Clara  to  play  Russian  music — though,  to  be 
sure,  it's  generally  Polish.  She  bores  people  to 
death  with  her  everlasting  Bach." 

"  I  didn't  see  you  this  afternoon." 

"  No — all  those  old  cats  of  Elizabeth's — catch 
me !  And  then,  as  I  say,  Bach  bores  me.  Clara 
plays  well,  though;  don't  you  think  so?  I  can't 
think  where  she  gets  her  ability  to  work.  I  could 
never  work  in  my  life.  Do  you  believe  in  work, 
like  all  good  Americans?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  believe  in  anything." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  man  without  convictions — the 
modern  sort  ?  What  a  pity !  I  wish  we  could  go 
back  a  hundred  years  and  get  some.  That's  the 
reason  I  like  Russians — they  believe  in  all  sorts  of 
things.  And  Catholics.  There's  a  nice  English- 

96 


The  Eternal  Spring 

man  here  who  is  determined  to  convert  me.  He  is 
endlessly  amusing.  I  think  I  shall  end  by  being 
converted.  It  is  such  a  civilised  religion — plenty 
of  emotion  in  it,  and  all  the  reason  you  want — I 
should  not  want  any.  What  new  religion  have  you 
now  in  America  ?  I  think  I  will  smoke — have  you 
a  cigarette?  " 

She  rose,  having  finished  her  supper,  and  walked 
down  the  length  of  the  room,  while  Carleton  was 
searching  for  Elizabeth's  cigarettes.  He  found 
them,  finally,  and  took  them  to  Mrs.  Langham, 
who  was  standing  before  the  star  picture  of  Cra- 
ven's collection — a  fourteenth-century  altar-piece, 
a  Madonna  in  pearl  and  gold,  delicate  and  ex- 
quisite as  a  perfect  flower. 

"It's  beautiful,  isn't  it?  Why  don't  people 
paint  like  that  nowadays,  instead  of  daubing  their 
paint  on  and  expecting  you  to  guess  what  they 
mean?  The  Uffizi  is  to  have  it  at  Elizabeth's 
death.  To  think  of  the  fine  things  Cousin  James 
got  together  here !  And  now  they  are  Elizabeth's. 
I  wish  I  had  them.  I  wonder  what  she  will  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carleton,  looking  at  a 
bracelet,  set  with  rubies,  on  Mrs.  Langham's  wrist. 

97 


The  Eternal  Spring 

It  was  a  round,  very  feminine  wrist;  her  hands 
were  small,  rather  plump,  and  wonderfully  fine  in 
texture;  her  feet  were  small,  with  excessive  insteps 
and  heels,  and  she  walked  and  held  herself  "  very 
tall." 

She  laughed.  "  Well,  if  you  don't  know  now, 
I  daresay  you  will  soon.  .  .  .  This  has  been 
very  nice.  We  must  have  another  talk  soon.  And 
then  you  must  do  some  of  the  talking.  Will  you  ? 
Good-night." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  with  a  smile  so  gracious 
and  pleasing  that  he  found  himself  bowing  over 
her  fingers,  not  ungracefully.  It  was  something 
like  rendering  homage  to  royalty — a  formal  salute, 
not  a  kiss.  This  he  told  himself  as  he  departed  to 
bed — conscious  that  he  had  enjoyed  the  frivolous 
end  of  the  evening,  and  quite  in  the  mood  of 
charity  toward  the  very  handsome  mother  of 
Clara. 


CHAPTER   VI 

BUT  this  was  a  mood  of  brief  duration;  it 
did  not,  in  fact,  survive  the  night.  What 
did  survive,  and  woke  with  him  on  a 
morning  of  pouring  rain,  was  the  recollection  of 
Clara's  look,  as  they  stood  in  the  corridor.  Not 
only  her  expressive  glance  at  him,  but  her  whole 
appearance,  was  extraordinarily  vivid;  her  grace, 
her  fragility.  She  was  like  a  flower-piece  set  for 
some  festal  occasion,  and  drooping  in  too  close  an 
air.  She  should  not  have  gone  out,  after  playing 
in  the  afternoon.  "  You  are  always  tired,  Clara." 
Poor  little  girl ! 

No  wonder  she  was  tired,  with  that  mother, 
with  that  tragedy  in  her  past,  with  her  work  and 
her  too  sensitive  nerves — no  wonder  she  was  sad ! 
It  was  quite  enough,  without  thinking  of  the 
darker  shadow.  Carleton  did  not  want  to  think 
of  that,  and  the  result  was  that  he  thought  of 
nothing  else,  until  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 

99 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Poor  Elizabeth  !  She  had  lived  beyond  the  time 
for  the  ordinary  experience  of  a  woman  without 
being  touched  by  it.  And  now,  Carleton  could  not 
but  feel,  she  looked  to  him  to  give  it  to  her.  And 
it  must  be  given  in  its  perfection,  too — her  long 
waiting  demanded  that !  A  romantic  love — the 
love  of  youth — was  what  she  wanted.  She  was 
too  unsophisticated  to  see  the  use  of  what  she 
might  in  reason  expect. 

Expectation!  That  was  her  attitude  toward 
him,  try  as  she  would  to  hide  it.  ...  What 
had  become  of  the  idle  peace  and  sweetness  of  his 
first  hours  at  La  Fontanella  ? 

He  found  Elizabeth  in  the  library,  busy  with  a 
voluminous  mail,  and  looking  tired  and  depressed. 
She  dropped  her  letters  when  he  appeared,  and 
turned  to  the  fire,  assuring  him  that  he  wasn't  in 
the  way. 

"Are  you  going  out  in  spite  of  the  weather?  " 
she  asked.  "  You  can  have  the  closed  carriage  if 
you  like — but  the  galleries  will  be  as  cold  as  a 
tomb.  I'm  going  to  lunch  to-day  at  Mrs.  Blan- 
don's — you  know,  the  little  Englishwoman  you 

101 


The  Eternal  Spring 

talk  to  Elizabeth  about  it.  Perhaps  they  together 
could  do  something  to  help  Clara.  If  they  were 
married,  she  might  come  and  live  with  them.  She 
was  undoubtedly  morbid  and  imagined  a  lot  of 
things.  He  wished  that  he  might  talk  with  her 
frankly  about  her  life  and  herself.  Perhaps  he 
might.  There  was  no  harm,  at  any  rate,  in  show- 
ing his  interest.  Meantime,  there  was  Elizabeth. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  uncomfortable  about 
Elizabeth.  It  was  all  very  well  to  think  of  taking 
her  on  a  basis  of  friendship.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  had  come  over  with  an  almost  definite  idea 
of  marrying  her.  She  knew  that;  other  people 
suspected  it.  Indeed,  all  that  stood  in  the  way  was, 
he  became  convinced,  what  Elizabeth  called  his 
honesty.  He  had  not  made  love  to  her  warmly 
enough.  Well,  he  was  not  warmly  in  love  with 
her.  But  he  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  perhaps  in 
time  she  would  be  content  with  that.  However,  it 
was  an  embarrassing  position.  If  Elizabeth  had 
been  tremendously  in-  love  with  him,  even,  it  might 
be  easier.  But  he  thought  that  she  was  more  in 
love  with  her  idea  of  love  than  anything  else.  And 
that  being  so,  who  could  content  her? 

100 


The  Eternal  Spring 

liked  yesterday.  She  asked  me  to  bring  you.  She 
says  you  have  the  most  sympathetic  eyes  she  ever 
saw.  Look  out  for  her — she's  a  desperate  flirt. 
I  hear  you  and  Augusta  had  a  midnight 
supper  last  night.  Aren't  you  getting  rather  gay? 
How  do  you  like  her  now  ?  " 

"  She's  a  gorgeous  creature.  But,  after  all, 
looks  aren't  everything.  I  don't  think  I  should 
want  her  around  much  of  the  time.  Clara,  now, 
would  be  much  more  companionable.  Tell  me  a 
little  more  about  her,  will  you  ?  I  mean  about  this 
idea  of  hers  that  she  is — that  she  ought  not  to 
marry  and  all  that.  .  .  ." 

Carleton  had  begun  in  a  light  tone,  but  it  broke 
down  as  he  touched  the  theme  of  his  thoughts. 
He  became  grave  and  frowned  at  the  fire.  Eliza- 
beth shivered  a  little,  in  spite  of  the  warmth  of  the 
room.  She  closed  and  opened  her  eyes  wearily. 
Her  eyelids  were  pink,  and  it  struck  Carleton 
uncomfortably  that  she  had  been  crying. 

"  I  don't  know  very  much  about  it,"  she  said. 
"  Clara  hasn't  talked  much  to  me;  but  I've  put 
several  things  she  has  said  together,  and  indirectly 
— well,  her  mother  talks  more  about  it.  Augusta 

IO2 


The  Eternal  Spring 

feels  deeply  aggrieved  at  Clara's  attitude.  It 
reminds  her  constantly  of " 

"  Good  heavens !  But  never  mind  her!  You 
practically  said  last  night  that  he  was  probably 
not  insane  at  all — Langham,  I  mean.  Now,  if  he 
wasn't,  all  this  idea  of  Clara's " 

"  Yes,  but  nobody  knows.  At  least,  Augusta 
probably  knows  more  than  anyone  else,  and  she 
insists  that  he  had  shown  unmistakable  signs  of 
insanity  before,  and  that  she  lived  in  terror  of  her 
life;  in  fact,  that  Malaspina  was  trying  to  defend 
her  when  he  was  killed." 

"  But  someone  must  know  definitely — people 
who  knew  them  at  that  time " 

"  It  may  be.  But  I  don't  know.  You  see,  all 
this  happened  many  years  before  I  knew  anything 
of  them;  and  what  people  say  about  it  now  is 
vague." 

"  But  there  must  be  records  somewhere — evi- 
dence taken  at  the  time,  that  would  show  some- 
thing. .  .  ." 

'There  may  be;  but  no  one  has  investigated, 
so  far  as  I  know." 

"  But  someone  ought  to  investigate — when 
103 


The  Eternal  Spring 

perhaps  the  course  of  her  whole  life  depends  on  it! 
Hasn't  she  any  other  relatives?" 

"  I  think  Clara  would  recoil  from  the  idea  of 
having  it  all  brought  up  again." 

"  Perhaps  she  would,  if  she  implicitly  believes 
in  her  mother.  But  does  she?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  If  she  doesn't,  she  pretends 
to." 

'  Yes,  but  this  marriage Mrs.  Langham 

practically  said  last  night  that  Clara  was  to  marry 
Morelli " 

"Oh,  I  know;  but  she  ignores  Clara's  feelings 
as  far  as  possible.  No  one  knows  what  Clara  will 
do.  I  know  Morelli  has  asked  her  to  marry  him, 
and,  as  you  can  see,  he  is  with  her  a  good  deal. 
He  would  promise  anything  to  marry  her,  under 
any  circumstances,  I  believe.  I  don't  know  whether 
she  hesitates  because  she  thinks  it  wrong  to  marry 
or  because  she  doesn't  care  enough  for  him.  What 
Augusta  would  like  would  be  to  have  her  marry  a 
rich  man.  But  it  makes  her  furious  when  Clara 
says  she  won't  marry  at  all." 

"  Then  her  mother  tells  her  that  she  has  this 
104 


The  Eternal  Spring 

possible  inheritance  of  insanity,  and  at  the  same 
time  expects  her  to  ignore  it — is  that  it?  " 

"  Augusta  isn't  very  logical  when  her  own 
wishes  are  involved." 

" '  Logical '  is  a  mild  word  for  it.  ... 
But,  look  here,  all  this  vagueness  ought  to  be 
cleared  away.  Someone  should  find  out  whether 
there  was  anything  wrong  back  of  Langham,  in 
his  family;  also,  whether  anyone  but  his  wife  ever 
thought  him  insane.  She  doesn't  strike  me  as  a 
person  who  would  risk  her  life,  if  she  did  think 
him  so.  ...  Also,  what  the  police  records 
show  about  the  circumstances  of  the  tragedy. 
.  .  .  You  say  it  was  at  Mentone,  fifteen 
years  ago.  Do  you  know  the  month?  " 

"  No,"  said  Elizabeth  in  surprise.  "  Do  you 
think  of  investigating?  " 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  do  it  together? 
Clara  needn't  know  anything  about  it — at  least, 
not  now.  But  you  are  a  relative,  and  if  you  could 
go  to  her  and  show  conclusively  that  her  mother 
had  lied " 

Elizabeth  seemed  deep  in  thought.  She  was 
105 


The  Eternal  Spring 

silent  for  some  moments.  Finally,  she  said :  "  I 
doubt  if  anyone  could  show  conclusively,  even  if 
she  has.  The  line  between  sanity  and  insanity 
isn't  always  very  clear,  in  the  case  of  that  kind  of 
temperament.  Clara  herself " 

"Well?" 

"  I  may  tell  you,  Barry.  Indeed,  it's  no  secret 
— at  least,  Augusta  told  me  quite  frankly " 

"  Tell  me,  then." 

"  Well,  there  have  been  times  when  Clara  her- 
self wasn't — quite  herself." 

"What  times?    How?" 

'  Twice  she  has  had  to  spend  some  months  away 
from  everyone,  in  a  kind  of  sanitarium.  Nervous 
strain  resulting  in  intense  melancholia  was  the 
medical  explanation  —  which  explains  about  as 
much  as  they  generally  do.  She  had  been  over- 
working, I  suppose.  But  for  weeks  she  wouldn't 
speak  to  anyone.  She  showed  a  deep  dislike  to 
her  mother.  She  would  sit  for  whole  days  with 
her  eyes  closed " 

Carleton  got  up,  and  began  to  walk  about  the 
room. 

"  I  don't  see  that  there's  anything  abnormal  in 
106 


The  Eternal  Spring 

any  of  those  things.     That  she  should  be  melan- 
choly and  dislike  her  mother — — " 

"  That's  what  I  say,  Barry.  The  line  isn't  easy 
to  draw.  .  .  .  But  what  is  certain  is  that 
she's  of  an  excessively  nervous  temperament — 
abnormally  high-keyed.  I  suppose  it's  partly  for 
that  reason  that  I  haven't  meddled.  I've  never 
dared  to  question  her — I  haven't  even  questioned 
Augusta.  .  .  .  Then,  I  have  had  a  feeling — 
which,  apparently,  in  a  way,  you  have,  too — that 
Clara's  romantic  disposition  may  be  playing  a  big 
part  in  all  this.  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  she  sees 
herself  as  a  kind  of  victim  of  Fate.  At  any  rate, 
she  understands  the  dramatic  value  of  the  position ! 
.  .  .  If  you  could  see  how  she  torments 
Morelli !  I  don't  mean  to  be  unkind, — I  love 
Clara,  and  think  her  a  most  fascinating  creature, 
— but  she  is  sometimes  quite  diabolical.  I  can 
always  tell  when  she's  going  to  vow  herself  to 
hopeless  spinsterhood,  for  then  she  makes  herself 
ten  times  as  pretty  as  usual!  ...  I  can't 
take  it  quite  as  seriously  as  you  do,  Barry,  for  I 
know  her  better — and  I  hope  all  this  will  have  a 
natural  end  in  her  marriage." 

107 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  And  you  think  there's  nothing  in  the  insanity 
story?" 

"  Ah,  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  think  she's 
young,  and  ought  to  be  happy." 

Carleton  came  back  to  her. 
'  You're  a  clever  woman,  Elizabeth,  and  sweet, 
too,"  he  said,  with  abrupt  conviction.     "  You're 
sweeter  than  you  used  to  be — and  gentler.    .    .    . 
Elizabeth,  dear,  will  you  marry  me?  " 

She  rose  quickly,  with  a  cry  of  exasperation. 
"  What  a  man !  "  Her  hands  instinctively  went 
up  to  hide  her  reddened  eyes.  "No!  "  she  said 
emphatically.  "  And  now  I  must  finish  my  letters. 
Are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Blandon's  with  me,  or  are 
you  going  to  town  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  with  you.  And  on  the  way  you 
will  give  me  your  reason  for  that  very  short  and 
unpleasant  answer." 

"  My  reason  is  such  a  good  one  that  I  shall 
never  tell  it  to  you.  No,  on  second  thought,  I'll 
tell  it  to  you  now.  If  ever  you  want  a  woman  to 
marry  you,  don't  say  so  in  the  morning,  when  she 
is  looking  her  worst — and  in  the  middle  of  a 
prosaic  talk  about  other  people." 

1 08 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  It  seems  to  me  that's  a  very  good  time  to 
say  it." 

"  Well,  that  proves  that  you  know  nothing  at 
all  about  women." 

She  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  began  opening  her 
remaining  letters  hastily. 

"  Good-by,  then,"  said  Carleton,  moving  toward 
the  door.  "  At  what  time  shall  we  resume  the 
subject?  " 

"  The  carriage  will  be  at  the  door  at  one 
o'clock." 

At  one  o'clock,  accordingly,  they  set  off.  Eliza- 
beth looked  ten  years  younger,  in  a  light  dress  and 
a  small  hat  covered  with  flowers  and  tied  on  with  a 
spotted  veil.  She  was  talkative  and  excited,  as 
always  when  anything  that  interested  her  was 
going  on.  The  carriage  held  two  snugly.  It  jolted 
down  the  long  hill,  over  roughnesses  made  or  left 
bare  by  the  storm.  The  rain  poured  in  sheets 
down  the  windows.  Elizabeth  had  a  foreign  way 
of  using  some  perfume — lilac,  or  at  least  some- 
thing light  and  springlike. 

Carleton  felt  himself  by  this  time  quite  at  the 
109 


The  Eternal  Spring 

mercy  of  circumstance.  He  had  begun  by  intend- 
ing one  thing,  had  changed  his  intention  several 
times,  and  now  could  not  feel  that  he  had  any 
worth  mentioning.  He  left  himself  to  chance.  He 
was  aware,  however,  that  his  head  ached,  and  that 
he  wished  he  were  not  going  out  to  lunch  and  talk. 

"  I  wish  we  could  ride  on  together,  forever 
ride,"  he  said. 

"  You  mean  drive?  It  doesn't  sound  so  poetic, 
but  think  of  riding  in  this  rain !  What's  the  trou- 
ble— don't  you  want  to  go  ?  You  look  tired.  Are 
you  boring  yourself  too  much  with  people?  You 
know  I  don't  want  that — I  told  you  that  you  must 
do  exactly  what  you  pleased  and  no  more.  I  can 
send  you  straight  back  in  the  carriage,  if  you  like, 
and  they  need  never  know  you  thought  of  coming. 
I  shall  have  a  cab  home,  anyway.  You  can  get 
some  kind  of  a  meal  at  the  house.  .  .  .  Clara 
will  be  there,  probably." 

He  was  conscious  that  Elizabeth's  side-glance 
at  him  was  a  good  deal  sharper  than  her  voice. 

"  I'll  let  you  know  when  we  get  there,  if  I  may," 
he  said.  "  At  any  rate,  I  shall  have  had  the  drive 
with  you." 

no 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Ah,  the  drive  with  me!  .  .  .  If  you 
desert  me  I  shall  bring  another  man  home  with  me 
when  I  come.  He  is  to  lunch  at  the  Blandons', 
and  I  thought  of  bringing  him  back  to  dine.  He's 
an  American  professor,  just  over.  I  like  them 
fresh  out  of  the  academic  atmosphere.  I  met  him 
the  other  day,  and  he  is  rather  nice." 

"  That  settles  it — I  shall  certainly  go  back.  I 
wouldn't  for  anything  deprive  you  of  the  profes- 
sor. But  you  ought  at  least  to  be  a  little  kind  to 
me  now." 

"  Kind?  Am  I  not  doing  my  utmost  to  be  kind 
to  you?" 

"  But  your  utmost,  apparently,  is  to  leave  me  to 
myself.  I  don't  want  to  be  let  alone  all  the  time. 
That's  not  exactly  what  I  came  over  for,  Eliza- 
beth." 

"  Never  mind  what  you  came  over  for,  Barry 
dear.  We've  discussed  that  before,  and  you  tried 
to  explain.  So  let  us  take  it  for  granted  that  I 
know  what  you  came  for." 

"Then,  if  you  do,  you  may  as  well  tell  me, 
mayn't  you?  " 

'  Tell  you  what  you  came  for?  " 
in 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Tell  me  if  I  may  have  what  I  came  for." 

She  was  silent,  turning  her  face  to  the  blank 
window. 

'  You  came  for — many  things,  Barry.  Some  I 
could  give  you,  perhaps.  But  I'm  afraid  to  try, 
for  I  fear  I  should  fail.  Because " 

He  waited. 

"  I  couldn't  risk  failure !  "  she  cried,  facing 
him  and  drawing  away  as  far  as  possible  into  the 
corner  of  the  seat.  "  And  I  can't  feel  that  you 
need  me.  What  you  do  need,  I  don't  know — you 
don't  seem  to  know  yourself." 

"  Peace  and  quiet,"  he  murmured. 

"  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  you  would  find  me  a 
quiet  or  peaceful  person." 

"  You  seem  so." 

u  Perhaps  it's  the  quiet  of  despair — or  resigna- 
tion-— or  death !  I  don't  feel  peaceful,  I  assure 
you !  No,  if  it's  peace  you  want " 

"  It's  life— new  life— I  want." 

"Ah,  well — that's — different " 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  shining,  her  cheeks 
flushing  behind  the  veil. 

That  was  the  moment.  And  just  there  the  Ira- 
112 


The  Eternal  Spring 

pulse  that  had  carried  him  on  ebbed  and  failed. 
An  overwhelming  physical  weariness  came  upon 
him.  His  eyes  had  lost  their  vividness,  his  face 
looked  haggard. 

"Why  do  you  make  me  think  about  myself?  " 
he  demanded.  "  I  can't  help  seeing  what  a  miser- 
able beast  I  am — a  perfectly  useless  animal.  I'm 
thirty  years  old,  and  what  shall  I  ever  be  good  for 
now?  What  have  I  ever  been  good  for,  if  you 
come  to  that?  I  used  to  get  pleasure  out  of  life, 
and  that  was  reason  enough  for  me  for  living;  but 
now  I  feel  like  an  empty  sponge — wrung  dry! 
How  can  I  have  the  face  to  ask  for  anything  when 
I've  nothing  to  give  in  exchange?  " 

He  dropped  his  head  with  a  long  sigh.  And 
Elizabeth  closed  her  eyes,  not  to  see  his  limp 
figure — and  perhaps  for  another  reason. 

The  wheels  grated  on  a  stone  pavement,  and  in 
a  moment  the  carriage  stopped. 

"  Don't  try  to  get  out,"  Elizabeth  said  hastily, 
gathering  up  her  skirts  and  opening  the  door  on 
her  side.  She  slipped  out,  and  the  door  slammed 
after  her  before  Carleton  could  speak.  He  caught 
a  blurred  glimpse  of  her  as  she  dived  into  a  door 


The  Eternal  Spring 

opening  casually  in  the  wall.  Then  the  carriage 
started  again. 

Carleton  wished  that  he  had  got  out,  had  made 
an  effort  over  himself  and  met  these  people.  He 
began  to  realise  that  he  must  make  some  effort, 
unless  he  wanted  to  be  reduced  to  the  condition  of 
a  jelly-fish.  It  might  be  agreeable  to  be  a  jelly- 
fish; but  it  would  undoubtedly  be  hard  to  stop 
being  one.  He  felt  that  already  he  had  got  rather 
far  on  the  way  to  total  spinelessness. 

There  seemed  not  much  of  his  original  being 
left,  except  aches.  A  brutal  ache  at  the  base  of 
the  brain  was  the  chief  sensation  of  life  at  present. 

Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  thing,  now,  to  clear  out? 
Elizabeth  couldn't  really  want  him  around,  he 
thought.  He  must  be  an  unmitigated  nuisance. 
It  wasn't  decent  of  him  to  stay  on  in  this  state. 

But  perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  decent  to  clear  out, 
either.  He  had  committed  himself  to  Elizabeth, 
as  far  as  he  could.  He  had  offered  himself  to  her 
— several  times — was  it  two  or  three  times  ?  Per- 
haps if  he  kept  on  doing  it  he  might  attain,  in  time, 
to  the  proper  amount  of  intensity.  Then  she  would 
be  pleased,  possibly,  to  give  an  answer.  At  present 

114 


The  Eternal  Spring 

he  was  hung  up,  like  Mahomet's  coffin,  between 
earth  and  heaven.  A  faint  smile  touched  his  lips 
as  this  figure  suggested  itself.  If  Elizabeth 
let  him  fall  back  to  earth,  what  should  he  do? 
Burrow  into  it  somewhere,  if  possible,  like  the 
Worm  of  the  fable.  "  Lass'  mich  schlafen!"  he 
growled,  in  Fafner's  phrase,  and  fancied  he  could 
feel  the  cool,  dark  mould  settling  over  him  as  he 
turned  himself  for  another  nap.  .  .  .  And 
heaven?  Well,  La  Fontanella  could  hardly  be 
heaven,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ATER  the  rain  came   a  week  of  delicious 
weather,  warm  and  lazy,  with  a  cool  wind 
at  nightfall.    June  began,  but  summer  still 
held  off  her  hand,  and  the  spirit  of  spring  lingered 
in  freshness  and  cool  colour.    But  it  was  the  south- 
ern spring  and  the  Italian  country.    It  was  a  reviv- 
ing of  old  desires,  a  wakening  of  infinite  reminis- 
cences.    It  was  rich  and  deep.     It  was  sweet,  with 
the  eternal,  pathetic  sweetness  of  passing  youth 
seen  by  middle  age. 

At  La  Fontanella  the  time  went  by  swiftly  and 
easily.  People  came  and  went,  and  were  pleasant 
or  tiresome  as  the  case  might  be.  There  was 
always  someone  at  luncheon,  generally  two  or 
three  at  dinner.  Carleton  drove  about  the  coun- 
try and  revisited  his  old  loves  in  church  or  gallery. 
Elizabeth  wrote  letters,  made  and  received  visits. 
Clara  worked  at  her  music  and  began  to  show  some 
interest  in  Carleton.  Mrs.  Langham  bewailed  her 
entanglement  in  an  endless  legal  correspondence, 

116 


The  Eternal  Spring 

when  all  she  wanted  was  a  simple  matter  of  a  little 
more  money. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  the  professor  became 
domiciled  at  the  villa.  His  name  was  Matthew 
Harris,  and  he  came  from  a  New  England  girls' 
college.  He  was  a  bachelor  of  forty-eight;  tall, 
spare,  carefully  dressed,  with  a  pointed  beard  and 
elegant  eye-glasses.  He  knew  nearly  everything 
that  can  be  learned  from  books,  and  had  written 
several  books  about  books.  When  he  had  been  a 
few  days  about,  everybody  liked  him.  He  was  so 
happy  that  he  became  lovable.  He  proved  to  be 
romantic  and  to  have  a  congealed  fountain  of  joy 
in  life  within  him,  that  now,  in  a  mild  atmosphere, 
began  to  thaw  out.  He  paid  lyric  compliments  to 
Mrs.  Langham,  and  admired  Clara ;  but  his  main 
devotion  was  to  Elizabeth. 

"  She's  fascinatingly  complex,"  he  said  to  Carle- 
ton.  "  Her  mind  is  at  once  frank  and  elusive. 
Like  a  skein  of  silk — there's  just  one  right  place  to 
begin.  Make  a  mistake,  and  you  get  a  hopeless 
tangle.  But  the  tangles  are  fascinating,  too." 

Elizabeth  seemed  to  like  being  untangled.  She 
gave  a  e;reat  deal  of  time  to  Mr.  Harris. 

117 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Isn't  he  delicious !  "  she  demanded  of  Carle- 
ton.  "  He  knows  all  about  books,  and  nothing 
else.  He's  like  Miranda  on  the  desert  island — 
ready  to  fall  down  and  worship." 

"  He  is  rather  girlish,"  said  Carleton. 

"  Ah,  you're  envious  of  him !  He  does  enjoy 
himself." 

But  Carleton  was  enjoying,  too — not  himself, 
exactly,  but  other  people  and  things.  Some  of 
Clara's  Italians  interested  him — in  themselves,  and 
also  because  anything  connected  with  Clara  now 
somehow  interested  him.  They  were  young  peo- 
ple, very  modern,  fluent  in  English,  and  in  every- 
thing else,  apparently.  The  two  that  Clara  seemed 
most  intimate  with  were  cousins — both  intense  and 
melancholy  creatures.  The  girl,  unmarried  at  the 
age  of  twenty-six,  chafed  against  the  conventional 
bounds  of  her  life,  and  talked  passionate  anarchy. 
The  man,  with  a  brilliant  university  record  in 
philosophy  and  a  poetic  temperament,  was  un- 
happy because  his  family  expected  a  worldly  career 
for  him.  Clara  was  eloquent  to  Carleton  about 
this  young  fellow's  predicament,  and  she  was  very 
charming  to  him,  and,  in  different  ways,  to  others 

118 


The  Eternal  Spring 

who  came.  Carleton  saw  that  she  had  a  number 
of  devotees.  He  perceived,  too,  before  many  days, 
that  under  the  gay  mask  of  Morelli's  customary 
manner  something  like  to  desperation  was  con- 
cealed. 

At  the  beginning  Morelli  talked  to  him  pleas- 
antly and  frankly — talked  about  Clara,  even,  in  an 
impersonal  way.  Carleton  learned  that  they  had 
met  first  in  London,  where  Morelli  was  doing  some 
laboratory  work,  about  eight  months  before;  and 
that  Morelli  was  much  interested  in  her  musical 
talent — in  fact,  was  rather  over-enthusiastic  about 
it.  In  these  talks  Carleton  was  judging  him,  with 
the  deeper  interest  because  of  Clara.  He  saw  in 
Morelli  a  man  destined  to  practical  success,  gifted 
and  level-headed,  but  with  an  emotional  streak 
capable  of  knocking  him  off  his  feet  temporarily, 
as  it  had  done  in  the  case  of  Clara. 

As  Carleton  saw  more  of  Clara,  he  found 
Morelli  less  accessible,  and  began  to  see  in  his 
manner  traces  of  the  moody  irritability  natural  to 
a  lover  on  probation.  Clara,  too,  showed  more 
and  more  some  sort  of  strain.  She  worked  long 
hours  at  her  music,  and  would  come  in  to  luncheon 

119 


The  Eternal  Spring 

looking  white  and  exhausted;  then  she  would  be 
silent  and  abstracted,  and  her  face  expressed  a 
more  intense  melancholy  than  Carleton  had  ever 
before  seen  on  a  human  countenance.  He  thought, 
also,  that  she  avoided  being  alone  with  Morelli. 
And  he  saw  the  kind  of  thing  in  her  that  Elizabeth 
called  "  diabolical  " — a  changeableness,  physical 
as  well  as  mental,  a  way  of  flushing  suddenly  into 
beauty  quite  radiant,  when  she  chose. 

Some  of  these  beautiful  moments  had  been  for 
him ;  in  particular,  once  when  she  played  for  him 
alone  in  the  music-room.  They  had  had  a  long 
talk  about  art  in  general,  and  music  in  particular. 
Then  she  played — some  emotional  music  of  Bee- 
thoven, and  that  Chopin  nocturne  that  has  the  move- 
ment of  the  sea  in  it,  the  incessant  muffled  rise  and 
fall  of  the  blind  waves.  She  had  been  much  inter- 
ested in  Carleton's  ideas,  and  had  talked  fast  and 
freely  herself;  expression  had  excited  her.  Her 
cheeks  and  lips  were  vivid  with  colour,  her  eyes 
alight.  And  as,  after  the  final  note  of  the  noc- 
turne, she  looked  up  at  Carleton,  she  was  so 
beautiful  that  he  simply  gazed  at  her  in  a  maze 
of  pleasure,  not  even  conscious  that  he  was  silent. 

1 20 


The  Eternal  Spring 

He  found  that  her  eyes  were  of  a  green  colour, 
like  sea-water,  with  the  same  opaqueness  a  little 
way  below  the  surface;  they  were  soft  as  velvet. 
Her  brows  and  lashes  were  black,  like  her  hair; 
she  was  snow-white  and  rose-red,  like  the  maiden 
in  the  fairy-tale.  At  least,  this  is  what  Carleton 
would  have  said,  if  he  had  said  anything  at  that 
moment.  As  it  was,  he  sat  with  his  arms  folded, 
and  looked  at  her.  And  Clara  touched  a  note 
or  two  idly,  and  ran  a  delicate  rill-like  scale  up 
in  the  treble,  and  then  suddenly  closed  the 
piano. 

"  It  must  be  tea-time,"  she  said,  and  glanced 
over  Carleton's  head. 

Morelli  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"Ah,  how  long  have  you  been  there?"  de- 
manded Clara  imperiously.  "  I  don't  like  people 
to  look  at  me  unawares." 

Carleton  got  up,  feeling  that  the  spell  had  been 
painfully  broken,  and  astonished  at  her  roughness. 
Morelli  was  smiling. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  with  smooth  grace.  "  I 
came  by  Mrs.  Craven's  request  to  say  that  tea  is 
ready." 

121 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Don't  let  Mrs.  Craven  make  a  servant 
of  you,"  said  Clara,  and  walked  out  past  him 
haughtily. 

Morelli,  very  pale,  followed  without  looking  at 
Carleton,  who  felt  extremely  uncomfortable.  But 
the  scene  was  not  over  yet.  Having  been  a  witness 
to  Clara's  temper,  he  had  to  see  her  repentance 
also.  Before  she  had  reached  the  gate  of  the 
courtyard,  she  stopped,  turned  to  Morelli,  who 
was  nearest  her,  and  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Forgive  me,  Gennaro,  I  was  horribly  rude," 
she  said,  with  the  grieved  and  shamed  look  of  a 
child.  u  But  I  have  been  so  bothered  to-day,  my 
nerves  are  fairly  on  edge." 

Morelli  touched  the  offered  hand  with  his  lips; 
and  Clara  sighed  and  walked  swiftly  out  on  the 
terrace.  It  had  not  taken  a  minute;  but  Carleton, 
following  a  few  steps  behind  with  Morelli,  who 
did  not  speak  to  him,  felt  oddly  that  it  had 
changed  their  relations.  As  to  Clara,  he  did  not 
know  exactly  what  he  felt  for  her,  or  she  for  him. 
On  the  face  of  it,  she  was  angry  with  Morelli  for 
having  interrupted  their  talk;  but  very  probably, 
having  made  peace  with  the  offender,  she  would 

122 


The  Eternal  Spring 

now  visit  that  anger  on  him,  Carleton,  as  the 
ultimate  cause. 

There  were  several  visitors  at  the  tea-table 
under  the  cypresses,  and  Clara  was  surrounded  by 
them.  When  Carleton  had  a  chance  to  observe 
her,  he  saw  that  all  the  colour  had  died  out  of  her 
face.  She  looked  now  as  indifferent  as  was  con- 
sistent with  listening  at  all  to  the  woes  of  a  viva- 
cious lady,  who  had  rented  the  villa  of  an  Ameri- 
can countess,  and  had  found  that  she  could  not 
pluck  a  flower  in  the  grounds  without  accounting 
to  the  Countess's  steward,  nor  pass  her  own  gates 
after  ten  o'clock  at  night. 

Mrs.  Langham  returned  in  the  carriage,  accom- 
panied by  her  poodle  Fidelio,  as  the  visitors  were 
about  to  go.  As  she  stepped  out  and  came  across 
the  terrace,  trailing  her  embroidered  violet  dress 
and  posing  her  head  against  the  lace  parasol  that 
slanted  over  her  shoulder,  Carleton  thought  of  a 
flaunting  peacock  and  of  Maupassant's  world  of 
gold,  purple  and  marble.  That  ought  to  be 
Augusta's  world;  no  mists,  no  mysteries,  but 
everything  hard,  clear  and  splendid.  But,  unfor- 
tunately, there  were  mists  in  her  skies;  there  was 

123 


The  Eternal  Spring 

decidedly  a  cloud  on  her  brow,  and  her  Voice  had 
the  harsh  complaint  of  the  peacock  under  its  arti- 
ficial softness.  She  sat  down  in  the  chair  that 
Elizabeth  had  left  to  accompany  her  guests  to  their 
waiting  carriage;  and  though  she  was  thus  nearest 
to  the  tea-equipage,  it  devolved  upon  Carleton,  as 
she  never  did  anything  for  herself,  to  give  her  a 
cup  of  tea. 

"  It's  quite  undrinkable,"  she  said  languidly, 
setting  down  the  cup  after  one  taste.  "  Of  course, 
it's  been  standing  an  hour  or  so.  Will  you 
please  ask  Roberto  to  get  some  made  fresh  for 
me?" 

44  Let  me  go,"  said  Morelli  quickly. 

Clara  was  standing  with  Elizabeth  in  the  door- 
way. Morelli  joined  them,  and  the  three  went  in 
together. 

Carleton  was  for  some  moments  inattentive  to 
the  lady  left  to  him.  But  she,  too,  was  silent,  and 
devoted  herself  to  punching  holes  in  the  gravel 
with  the  thin  ferule  of  her  parasol;  Fidelio  sitting 
by  on  his  haunches,  his  red  mouth  half  open,  and 
observing  the  world  cynically.  Carleton  noted  the 
sprays  of  purple  flowers  embroidered  on  the  lace 

124 


The  Eternal  Spring 

of  the  parasol;  its  handle  was  silver,  set  with 
amethysts.  She  wore  a  plumed  hat,  and  long 
grey  gloves  wrinkling  up  to  meet  the  frills  of  her 
sleeves.  The  labour  of  how  many  fingers  was 
represented  by  this  scheme  of  decoration,  concen- 
trated on  this  one  among  many  settings  for  her 
coldly  voluptuous  charm!  She  was  undoubtedly 
a  costly  creature ! 

"  I've  been  thinking  that  you  ought  to  have  a 
different  frame,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  Something 
like  this,  but  bigger,  more  formal.  There  ought 
to  be  long  flights  of  marble  steps,  and  marble 
balustrades  with  peacocks  on  them,  and  swans 
somewhere  below  on  the  water.  And  you  should 
wander  about  always  in  the  gardens,  where  it 
would  be  always  afternoon " 

"  That's  very  poetic,"  said  the  lady,  punching 
more  holes.  "  But  it's  impossible,  like  all  poetry. 
This  is  a  world  of  prose,  my  dear  creature.  And 
to  prove  it,  I  am  about  to  ask  you  some  most  pro- 
saic questions.  Do  you  think,  for  instance,  you 
could  help  me  to  make  some  money?  " 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Langham,  I  don't  know  how 
to  make  money." 

I25i 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do !  Elizabeth  has  been 
telling  me.  I  know  you  have  made  a  good 
deal." 

Carleton  inwardly  confounded  Elizabeth's  busy 
tongue;  but  he  spoke  slowly  to  control  his  irri- 
tation. 

"  I  did  make  some — not  very  much — at  one 
time,  but " 

"Well,  could  you  not  tell  me  how  you  did  it? 
I  don't  know  anything  about  the  American  mar- 
kets  " 

"  But,  neither  do  I — now.  Stock  conditions 
change,  as  you  are  probably  aware.  For  three 
months  I  haven't  looked  at  a  market  report,  and  I 
hope  never  to  see  one  again.  So  that  any  informa- 
tion I  had  at  the  time  I  was  speculating  would  be 
perfectly  useless  now." 

Mrs.  Langham  raised  her  eyes — in  softness  they 
were  like  Clara's — and  looked  at  him  carefully, 
quite  unconvinced. 

"  But  if  you  knew  how  then,  you  must  know  how 
now.  And  why  did  you  stop?"  she  enquired 
curiously. 

"  Because  I  had  enough." 
126 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Enough?  But,  then,  you  must  have  made  a 
great  deal !  "  And  her  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  Enough  for  myself — that  isn't  very  much." 

"  Oh!  "  Her  gaze  became  reflective;  then,  as 
her  own  wish  recurred,  despondent.  "  It  seems  to 
be  incredibly  difficult  to  do  anything  about  money. 
I  have  had  another  perfectly  stupid  letter  from  my 
lawyers.  ...  I  thought  perhaps,  as  Eliza- 
beth's friend,  you  might " 

"  I  would,  of  course,  do  anything  I  could.  But 
— well,  if,  for  instance,  I  wanted  very  much  to 
make  some  money  for  myself  just  now,  I  should 
have  to  go  back  to  America,  watch  things  carefully 
for  some  time  before  going  in,  and  then  stay  on  the 
spot  and  watch  them  ten  times  as  hard.  Do  you 
see?  And,  of  course,  I  couldn't  advise  anybody 
else  to  take  risks  that  I  wouldn't  take  for  myself." 

"  I  see,"  she  said  reluctantly.  "  What  a  fright- 
ful nuisance  it  all  is !  " 

The  tea  came,  and  Carleton  carefully  poured  out 
a  fresh  cup  and  put  in  the  sugar  and  lemon  as  she 
had  previously  directed.  She  took  it  with  an 
expression  of  resignation. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  go  to  some  fearful  little  hole 
127 


The  Eternal  Spring 

this  summer  and  economise,"  she  said  pathetically. 
"  Fortunately,  Clara  can  manage  much  better  than 
I  can — and  she  doesn't  mind  those  places.  Of 
course,  she  has  her  music;  otherwise  I'm  sure  she 
couldn't  bear  them.  And  she  looks  forward  to 
being  very  successful  some  day;  and  that's  a  great 
thing  for  her.  I  wish  I  had  something  to  look  for- 
ward to.  What  do  you  think  of  her  chances  as  a 
professional?  " 

"  I  can't  judge,"  said  Carleton  curtly.  "  There 
are  so  many  considerations " 

"Oh,  I  know;  but  I  asked  you  what  you 
thought." 

"  I  should  think  that,  as  far  as  talent  goes,  and 
temperament,  she  had  a  good  chance.  She  has 
evidently  worked  hard,  and  she  has  the  equipment 
that  no  work  can  give.  The  question  would  be  of 
her  strength,  it  seems  to  me." 

1  Yes,  so  they  all  say,"  commented  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham  absently.  "  It's  a  pity  she  couldn't  have  had 
my  constitution.  She  will  be  very  unhappy  if  she 
doesn't  succeed.  But,  then,  who  is  not  unhappy  in 
this  world?  Are  you  happy,  Signer  Philoso- 
pher?" 

128 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  am  quite  as  happy  as  I  deserve  to  be." 

"Oh,  deserve!  What  has  that  to  do  with  it? 
Does  your  Providence  keep  a  shop,  and  hand  out 
so  much  happiness  over  the  counter  in  return  for 
so  much  goodness?  " 

"  No ;  or  if  it  does,  it  gives  short  measure,  I'm 
afraid.  There's  much  more  goodness  than  happi- 
ness in  this  world.  Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  either,"  said  the 
lady,  smiling.  "  Perhaps  I  don't  believe  in  either. 
People  act  as  they  must,  and  get  what  they  can, 
I  suppose.  That's  what  I  judge  from  my  own 
experience.  It's  all  chance." 

She  looked  at  him  with  grave  fixity,  and  he 
waited  eagerly  for  something  that  would  give  him 
a  lead;  but  she  went  on  slowly  drinking  her  tea. 
He  was  trying  to  project  himself  into  her  mind,  to 
see  her  as  she  probably  saw  herself.  It  was  not  in 
the  least  probable  that  she  would  ever  talk  to  him 
about  what  he  wanted  to  know;  but  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  try.  She  liked  to  talk — that  was  in  his 
favour.  The  first  thing  was  to  seem  more  inter- 
ested in  her  and  more  sympathetic  to  her  point  of 
view.  For  the  moment  he  wished  that  he  had  not 

129 


The  Eternal  Spring 

been  so  decided  about  the  money-making  propo- 
sition. He  could  not  have  done  what  she  asked, 
of  course;  but  he  might  have  given  her  some 
advice,  and,  incidentally,  have  found  out  more 
about  her — and  Clara. 

How  would  Clara  like  it?  Would  she  like  this 
prying  interest  of  his,  or  would  she  resent  it?  It 
seemed  odd  that  this  was  her  mother!  And  yet 
there  were  points  of  resemblance, — physical,  at 
least, — but  not  many.  Clara's  inheritance  clearly 
came  mainly  from  her  father;  and  Carleton  could 
not  help  being  actually  glad  of  that.  There  were 
worse  things  than  an  unbalanced  temperament. 

His  conversation  with  Mrs.  Langham  went  no 
farther  at  the  moment,  for  Elizabeth  returned. 
But  a  little  later  Elizabeth  referred  to  it,  and 
showed  that  she  knew  its  purport.  She  told  him 
then  that  Augusta  was  really  in  dire  straits  for 
money.  She  had  anticipated  her  next  quarter's 
allowance,  she  was  in  debt, — how  much  she  herself 
did  not  exactly  know, — and  for  the  next  few 
months  they  must  live  on  Clara's  little  income. 

"  And  Clara  is  restless  and  unhappy.  She  won't 
stay  much  longer  with  me.  It  is  a  trying  situation 

130 


The  Eternal  Spring 

for  her.  She  begged  me  not  to  lend  her  mother 
any  money;  but  Augusta  has  not  asked  for  any. 
Poor  girl!  And  poor  Gennaro!  I'm  afraid  she 
doesn't  mean  to  take  him,  after  all." 

They  were  standing  in  the  hall,  just  before  din- 
ner, and  now  the  others  began  to  appear — Mr. 
Harris  and  Morelli,  then  Clara,  and  lastly,  Mrs. 
Langham.  At  table  Carleton  was  beside  Clara, 
and  was  at  once  too  much  absorbed  in  her  to  pay 
any  heed  to  the  others. 

He  saw  that  she  was  in  an  intensely  nervous 
state.  She  ate  almost  nothing.  She  did  not  touch 
the  wine;  but  her  face  flushed,  and  she  talked 
rapidly  and  in  an  excited  way — yet  in  a  voice  so 
low  as  to  be  almost  inaudible  to — for  example — 
Morelli,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table.  Carle- 
ton  took  a  cool,  matter-of-fact  tone,  and  watched 
her  carefully — the  twitching  of  her  long  fingers, 
the  brightness  of  her  eyes  as  she  looked  sidewise 
at  him  under  drooping  lids.  His  characteristic 
calmness  of  aspect  seemed  to  please  her.  He  was 
sure  by  this  time  that  she  liked  to  be  with  him,  and 
that  his  quiet  manner  made  her  more  expressive. 

He  had  been  saying  that  he  envied  her  the  com- 


The  Eternal  Spring 

binatlon  of  mental  and  physical  work  in  her  art. 
"  One  kind  of  strain  must  offset  the  other.  It's  a 
more  symmetrical,  all-round  kind  of  thing.  A 
writer  hasn't  that — he  has  to  hunt  up  some  other 
kind  of  bodily  exercise.  It's  a  quieting  thing,  I 
should  think,  to  be  able  to  use  the  hand  and  the 
brain  together — as  a  painter  does  also." 

."  I  daresay  it  ought  to  be.  One  gets  tired 
enough.  But  that  doesn't  always  mean  rest,"  said 
Clara.  "  I  think  one  has  to  be  happy  in  order  to 
rest,  don't  you  ?  " 

Carleton  considered  for  a  moment,  observing 
at  the  same  time  the  pure  outline  of  her  face — 
which,  in  spite  of  its  pathetic  look  of  experience, 
had  not  a  line  as  yet.  How  young  she  was ! 

"  I've  been  reading  a  learned  German's  theory 
of  happiness,"  he  said.  "  He  thinks  that  happi- 
ness depends  upon  the  exercise  of  energy  and  what 
he  calls  the  volitional  surplus.  Now,  the  volitional 
surplus " 

"Never  mind  it!"  interrupted  Clara.  "That's 
just  like  a  learned  German!  How  could  he  pos- 
sibly know  anything  about  happiness?" 

"  By  the  justly  famous  Teutonic  method.  He 
132 


The  Eternal  Spring 

would  first  carefully  observe  the  phenomena  of 
happiness  In  different  classes  of  individuals,  and 
investigate  the  causes.  Then  he  would  tabulate 
his  results  and  reduce  them  to  a  mathematical 

formula,  such  as " 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  be  Teutonic !  But  tell  me  your 
theory  of  happiness." 

"  I  haven't  any.  But  I  could  give  you  some 
facts,  and  perhaps  from  them  we  could  construct  a 
theory.  For  instance,  I  am  happy  at  this  moment. 
Now,  why  am  I  happy?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  But  I  suppose  it's 
because  you  have  nothing  to  make  you  unhappy  at 
the  moment;  and  so  you're  at  peace." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  I'm  not  at  peace.  Happi- 
ness isn't  peace.  But  I'm  happy  because  I  can  sit 
here,  and  look  at  you,  and  talk  to  you." 

"  I  can't  construct  any  theory  on  those  facts. 
There  aren't  enough.     At  what  other  times  and  in 
what  other  circumstances  have  you  been  happy?  " 
"  I  think  I've  never  been  happy  before." 
"  I'm  afraid  you're  frivolous.    You  haven't  the 
proper  scientific  spirit.     I  shan't  pursue  the  investi- 
gation any  further." 

133 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But  you  have  a  theory  of  your  own.  You 
said " 

"  I  didn't  say  anything  about  happiness.  I  said 
one  had  to  be  happy  in  order  to  rest.  And  by  that 
I  mean,  not  to  be  tormented  by  people  and  things. 
I  should  like  to  go  far  away,  away  from  everybody 
and  every  place  I've  known." 

"  To  Africa,  for  instance?  " 

"  Anywhere." 

'  You're  quite  heartless  to  say  that.  But,  fortu- 
nately, you  can't  do  it." 

"No,  it  isn't  fortunate  for  me;  or  for  other 
people,  either.  I  don't  make  anyone  happy." 

"  You  might." 

"  No,  I  couldn't  possibly.  And  people  make  me 
desperately  unhappy." 

"And  do  you  think  you  would  find  a  better 
order  of  people  somewhere  else  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  not  to  find  any  at  all." 

"  Oh,  a  desert  island,  perhaps?  " 

;<  Yes,  something  like  that." 
'  With  a  grand  piano  on  it,  and  a  French  dress- 
maker? " 

"  And  a  good  maid,  and  a  cordon  bleu" 
134 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  What  frightful  selfishness,  to  want  to  keep  all 
those  good  things  to  yourself !  And  to  keep  your- 
self to  yourself — that's  worst  of  all." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  do  it  yet.  I  shall  run  away.  Surely 
I  have  a  right  to  be  happy  if  I  can." 

"  Yes,  but  not  alone." 

"  But  that  means  not  at  all.  You  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  I  understand  that  you're  in  a  Byronic  mood 
to-night,  and  that  you  have  a  romantic  tempera- 
ment." 

Clara  shivered.  "  Don't  talk  about  tempera- 
ment, I  beg  you.  I  haven't  any  at  all;  I  have  only 
temper.  I  have  a  very  bad  temper;  but  only  when 
people  exasperate  me.  Now,  you  must  admit  that 
people  ought  not  to  exasperate  me." 

"  Certainly  not.  But,  also,  you  ought  to  be 
charitable — in  a  reasonable  degree." 

Decided  exasperation  showed  in  her  glance  at 
him. 

"  Don't  preach  to  me,  please;  I  can't  bear  it. 
It's  nothing  but  platitudes — and  I  don't  want  you 
to  be  tiresome  too." 

"  But,  of  course,  I  am  tiresome.  Haven't  you 
135 


The  Eternal  Spring 

just  said  that  you'd  like  ne^er  to  see  me 
again?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  say  that."  And  now  her  eyes 
dwelt  on  him  with  enchanting  softness.  '  You  are 
not  connected  with  the  things  I  want  to  get  away 
from." 

"  I'm  not  connected  with  anything.  I'm  merely 
nobody." 

"  No,  not  that,  either." 

She  hesitated;  and  at  this  moment,  to  Carleton's 
intense  disgust,  the  high  voice  of  Mr.  Harris 
addressed  itself  to  him,  and  the  talk  became 
general. 


136 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A)  they  rose  from  the  table  Clara  said  eagerly, 
"  Let  us  have  coffee  out  on  the  terrace — 
it's  so  stifling  indoors."  And  she  went 
quickly  out  through  the  hall,  Carleton  following. 

"  Perhaps  you  ought  to  have  a  wrap,"  he 
suggested. 

"  No,  no;  this  is  all  I  want." 

She  had  a  gauzy  white  scarf  round  her  shoul- 
ders, and  as  she  spoke  she  threw  it  over  her  head 
so  that  its  folds  delicately  framed  her  face.  It 
was  an  unusually  warm  night.  At  nine  o'clock  the 
twilight  had  just  ended.  The  moon  had  nearly 
filled  its  circle;  it  was  rising  above  the  cypresses, 
and  the  whole  place  was  clearly  lighted.  Clara, 
declining  coffee,  seated  herself  on  the  wall,  and 
looked  down  into  the  valley,  where  the  shapes  of 
things,  and  even  the  colours,  refined  and  rare,  were 
magically  visible.  In  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  the 
wall,  fireflies  were  thick;  they  swam  hazily  about 
in  the  depth  of  air  over  the  hillside.  Far  below, 

137 


The  Eternal  Spring 

the  lights  of  the  city  lay  like  a  paler  swarm.  A 
cool  breath  floated  down  from  the  pine-woods  of 
the  higher  hills,  and  for  a  moment  blew  strongly; 
and  in  its  current  the  green,  winking  fire-craft 
eddied  helplessly  about.  Clara  put  out  her  hands 
to  bathe  in  the  breeze  and  lifted  her  face  to  it, 
closing  her  eyes  sensuously. 

"  Oh,  how  delicious !  "  she  murmured.  "  How 
wonderful  it  is,  after  the  heat — how  it  revives 
one!  I've  always  loved  this  night-wind.  It  feels 
like  water  as  it  ripples  over  your  fingers,  doesn't 
it?  I'll  tell  you  what  it's  like — the  water  of  the 
green  lakes  that  you  see  in  the  sunset,  with  gold 
islands  in  them !  ...  It  will  soon  be  time  to 
go  away." 

"To  go  away?    Why?" 

"  Florence  will  be  terribly  hot.  This  is  the 
beginning  of  the  hot  weather.  I  can't  bear  the 
heat;  it  withers  me  up.  .  .  .  Look!  it  must 
be  fiesta  to-night — the  city  is  illuminated.  Gen- 
naro !  Do  you  know  what  all  those  lights  are 
for?" 

Morelli  came,  with  a  coffee-cup  in  one  hand  and 
a  cigar  in  the  other. 

138 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  It  is  Fiesta  San  Somebody  or  Other,"  he  said. 

"Not  San  Giovanni?" 

"  Oh,  no — this  is  only  some  small  saint !  We 
make  more  of  our  patron  saint  than  this." 

"  St.  John — I  suppose  he  is  a  good  Christian 
saint,  not  the  pagan  kind  they  have  in  Germany? 
You  know,  there  they  celebrate  St.  John's  Eve  in 
midsummer — a  real  pagan  festival.  Everyone  can 
do  as  he  likes  while  the  fires  of  St.  John  burn !  " 

"  We  are  pagan  enough.  Shall  we  say  that  this 
is  St.  John's  Eve,  and  celebrate  him?  " 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  robbing  Saint  Somebody 
Else!  But,  let  us  go  somewhere  and  walk;  shall 
we?" 

"  Good !  From  the  top  of  the  hill  we  can  see 
the  illumination  better." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Carleton,  we'll  go  to  the  top  of 
the  hill.  Come,  everybody,  and  see  the  illumina- 
tion!" 

Clara  slipped  to  her  feet  and  flitted  through  the 
cypresses.  So  quick  was  she  that  she  seemed  fairly 
to  be  running. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Carleton !  "  she  called  again  over 
her  shoulder.  And  as  Carleton  hurried  after  her 

139 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Morelli  fell  back.  They  reached  the  gate  as  the 
others  were  just  coming  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
cypresses.  Clara  opened  the  postern-door  at  the 
side  of  the  big  iron  gates. 

"  Come,"  she  urged.  "  We  can't  wait  for  them. 
My  mother  will  take  a  year  to  get  up  the  hill.  She 
can't  walk  in  high  heels." 

And  out  she  flew.  Carleton  had  to  take  long 
strides  to  keep  up  with  her.  The  road  was  steep 
and  full  of  small  stones.  It  made  a  sharp  turn 
just  above  the  villa  and  then  wound  between  high 
walls,  half  in  black  shadow,  half  in  white  light. 
Clara  held  up  her  muslin  dress  over  her  white 
slippers.  She  took  three  steps  to  Carleton's  one, 
and  kept  always  a  step  ahead,  on  the  lighted  half 
of  the  road.  The  gauze  scarf  eddied  cloudily 
about  her  head,  and  one  end  of  it  floated  backward 
and  now  and  then  touched  Carleton's  shoulder. 

"  Chose  allee!  "  he  thought  of  her.  And  at  the 
same  time  the  feeling  of  her  restlessness  hurt  him. 
Suddenly  she  stumbled  over  a  stone,  and  he  caught 
her  arm.  "  Don't  try  to  run  up-hill — they  can't 
catch  you !  "  he  said  in  a  half-tender,  half-laughing 
tone,  as  he  would  have  spoken  to  a  child. 

140 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  it  is  rough !  "  she  sighed  plaintively.  She 
stood  still  for  a  moment,  breathing  fast.  "  It  is 
steep,  and  I've  made  you  run,  too !  " 

"  But  I  like  running." 

They  went  on  more  slowly,  but  still  several  turns 
of  the  road  in  advance  of  the  others. 

"  How  close  it  is !  "  She  glanced  from  side  to 
side.  "  These  walls  shut  off  the  air.  And  they 
crowd  in  so — all  the  little  fields  and  old  houses. 
Sometimes  it  makes  me  long  for  the  wilderness — 
something  really  fresh  and  new." 

"  Then  you  should  come  to  America,"  said 
Carleton. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  wilderness.  But  it  is  all 
vague  to  me.  You  see,  I  never  have  been  there — 
at  least,  since  I  was  a  year  old.  And  I  have  never 
wanted  to  go  back.  After  all,  I  suppose  it  is  not 
really  beautiful — as  this  certainly  is." 

"  The  real  wilderness  is — the  mountains,  the 
desert." 

"  Ah,  T  should  like  to  see  them !  But  I  suppose  I 
never  shall.  .  .  .  And  yet,  why  do  I  say 
that?  I  ought  to  be  able  to  do  some  of  the  things 
that  I  want  to  do.  I  hate  people  who  are  always 

141 


The  Eternal  Spring 

being  crushed  by  circumstances.  There's  -nothing 
so  deadly  uninteresting.  Do  you  believe  in  free- 
will or  in  predestination?  " 

"  I  don't  dare  to  believe  in  either — just  now." 

"  Coward !  I  could  believe  in  anything,  on  such 
a  night  as  this.  Even  in  the  Land  of  Heart's 
Desire,  '  where  nobody  gets  old  and  bitter  at 
heart' " 

The  road  divided,  its  main  branch  leading  on 
and  upward  to  the  little  town  that  made  a  stone 
cap  for  the  peak  of  the  hill.  They  took  the  nar- 
rower way,  and  came  out  on  the  crest  of  a  long 
spur.  There  was  a  stretch  of  road  free  of  trees; 
then  came  the  black  shadow  of  the  pine-woods.  On 
the  open  road  the  moonlight  poured  down,  quite 
spoiling  the  spectacle  they  had  come  to  see.  In 
the  valley  the  dome  was  indeed  clearly  visible,  its 
outlines  marked  by  tiny  beads  of  light;  and  there 
were  lines  of  lamps  along  the  buildings  near  it. 
But  the  whole  seemed  no  more  than  a  festival  of 
glow-worms. 

"  We  have  the  real  illumination  up  here,"  said 
Carleton. 

Clara  sat  on  the  low  retaining-wall,  one  hand 
142 


The  Eternal  Spring 

supporting  her  as  she  leaned  to  look  down,  the 
other  holding  the  scarf  across  her  breast.  Her 
pose,  the  turn  of  her  face,  with  downcast  eyes,  the 
light  cloud-like  film  about  her  head,  made  Carle- 
ton  exclaim  suddenly : 

"  You  are  exactly  like  a  Lippo  Lippi  Madonna 
— how  wonderful !  " 

Clara  smiled.  Then  she  gave  a  little  cry  and 
dropped  the  end  of  her  scarf.  A  firefly  had  got 
entangled  in  the  folds,  and  shone  out  for  a  moment 
in  greenish-gold  light. 

"  Oh,  let  it  stay  there !  "  begged  Carleton,  as 
she  tried  to  shake  it  out.  "  It  looks  like  a  star  in 
the  cloud !  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  like  crawling  things !  " 

"  But  it  doesn't  touch  you — do  let  it  stay." 

She  looked  doubtfully  at  the  creature  wandering 
in  its  transparent  labyrinth;  then,  as  the  rest  of 
the  party  appeared,  she  called  them  to  see  it. 

"  Look,  I  am  illuminated,  too !  " 

"  How  pretty!  You  do  look  like  a  saint,"  said 
Elizabeth. 

Mrs.  Langham  shrieked.  "  Horrid  creature, 
do  let  it  go — it  will  sting  you !  " 

H3 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  sat  down  rather  heavily  on  the  wall, 
trying  to  disguise  the  fact  that  she  was  out  of 
breath. 

"  No,  it  won't,"  said  Clara.  "  I  should  like 
some  more.  Mr.  Carleton,  do  see  if  you  can  catch 
some  more  for  me.  I  ought  to  have  as  many  lights 
as  the  Duomo !  " 

"  At  least  there  should  be  seven,"  said  Mr. 
Harris,  and  he  quoted  gallantly: 

'*  '  The  Blessed  Damozel  leaned  out 

From  the  gold  bar  of  Heaven    .... 

She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand 

And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven."  " 

Carleton,  as  he  brought  back  another  firefly, 
imprisoned  in  his  hand,  murmured  to  himself: 

"  '  Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 
Of  waters  stilled  at  even."  " 

And  Mrs.  Langham  said  languidly: 

;' Well,  really!  I  don't  think  we  need  have 
climbed  up  here  to  see  this,  do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  we  came  for  the  climb,"  said  Clara. 

'  Well,  of  course,  if  you  enjoy  it !  This  wall  is 
damp,  Clam ;  you  will  take  cold." 

144 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  It  is  damp,"  said  Elizabeth  calmly.  "  Rather 
bad,  I'm  afraid,  for  your  rheumatism,  Augusta." 

"  Rheumatism,  nonsense  !  "  Mrs.  Langham's 
tone  was  decidedly  acid.  "  But  certainly  it  is  too 
damp  for  comfort." 

"  Let  us  go  down,"  said  Clara,  rising  and  shak- 
ing out  her  glittering  captives. 

Morelli  turned  and  led  the  way.  His  silence 
was  so  unusual  as  to  be  noticed  by  at  least  three  of 
the  company.  He  saw  evidently  that  Clara  pre- 
ferred Carleton's  companionship.  And  indeed 
she  lingered  now  until  the  others  were  well  started 
down  the  hill. 

"  One  ought  never  to  get  my  mother  to  do  any- 
thing she  doesn't  want  to  do,"  she  said  moodily. 
"  She  can  be  more  uncomfortable  than  anyone  I 
ever  knew.  And  she  hates  views.  .  .  .  They 
spoiled  it  all,  didn't  they?  " 

"  Not  for  me." 

"No,  really?" 

"  It  was  only  five  minutes  out  of  my  hour." 

"  How  I  wish  I  were  as  calm  as  you — as  bal- 
anced! You  are  as  calm  as  a  rock — and  I'm — 
variable  as  the  light,  quivering  aspen !  Any  breath 


The  Eternal  Spring 

of  wind  shakes  me — everything  disturbs  me.  Oh, 
how  I  hate  to  go  back  down  there !  " 

She  had  gone  a  few  steps  along  the  road,  and 
now  stopped.  She  turned  to  look  up  at  Carleton, 
and  the  scarf  blew  back  from  her  head  and  hung 
round  her  bare  throat.  Her  face  thrilled  him,  and 
her  low,  vehement  tone.  He  felt  rather  uneasy, 
too.  Was  there  to  be  some  disastrous  effect  of 
her  nervous  excitement,  of  the  strain  he  had  seen 
her  trembling  under? 

"  But  I  am  acting  like  an  idiot,"  she  said,  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  though  not  for  the  relief 
of  tears. 

'  You  need  not  go  back  just  now,"  he  said.  "  I 
daresay  you  don't  want  to." 

He  would  have  liked  to  say  much  more  than 
that.  Things  that  were  quite  irrelevant  to  the 
matter  in  hand,  if  you  came  to  that.  She  was  really 
too  pretty  to  need  to'  make  herself  appealing  in 
any  other  way!  He  was  irritated  with  her  for  her 
childishness,  and  for  the  way  it  moved  him. 
.  .  .  All  very  well  to  say  that  her  situation 
was  a  hard  one — that  her  mother  was  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh — that  Morelli's  stormy  courtship  was 

146 


The  Eternal  Spring 

disquieting.  He  could  see  all  that.  He  pitied 
her — yes,  decidedly;  but  why,  after  all,  should  she 
appeal  to  him?  It  was  evident  that  she  was  quite 
undisciplined;  part  of  her  discomfort,  no  doubt, 
came  from  this  unchartered  freedom.  There 
ought  to  be  a  strong  hand  over  her  whims  and 
caprices.  If  there  had  been,  he  thought,  she  would 
never  have  got  to  this  state  of  nerves. 

He  stood  in  silence  till  she  looked  up,  then  took 
her  hand  firmly  and  led  her  back  to  the  wall. 

"  You'd  better  rest  a  little.  We  can  easily  over- 
take them  if  you  wish." 

He  spoke  rather  more  colourlessly  than  usual; 
with  all  his  mixed  feelings  about  Clara,  he  was 
deeply  moved  by  this  sudden  nearness.  From 
strangers  they  had  almost  at  once  become  intimate. 
She  had  thrown  down  the  barriers  of  conventional 
reserve.  In  her  lack  of  reason  and  control  she 
was  strangely,  irresistibly  interesting  to  him.  She 
had  appealed  to  him,  and  therefore  she  was  ten 
times  as  attractive  as  before.  Her  very  beauty 
was  no  more  a  picture,  but  a  warm,  compelling 
human  force.  His  feeling  for  her,  its  expression 
made  possible,  became  more  intense.  Pathetic, 


The  Eternal  Spring 

unhappy,  emotional,  beautiful,  exasperating — he 
felt  a  keen  desire  to  control,  chastise,  and  console 
her! 

She  clenched  her  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  wall, 
bruising  herself  with  the  sharp  stone. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  she  whispered.  And  in  a 
moment  repeated,  "What  shall  I  do?  I  don't 
want  .  to  break  down  again.  ...  I  am 
afraid.  .  .  ." 

"  There  must  be  someone  to  help  you,"  said 
Carleton  rather  roughly.  "  If  there  is  no  one  here 

that  you  trust " 

'  There  is  no  one  anywhere." 

"  But  that's  nonsense.  There  must  be.  What 
you  need  first  is  a  more  reasonable  way  of  living — 
a  good  physician " 

She  made  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"  I  have  had  so  many !  .  .  .  But  I  must 
do  something.  I  have  taken  so  much  sleeping 
medicine,  and  I  cannot  sleep.  .  .  .  They  can- 
not do  anything  for  me.  .  .  .  And  all  the 
time  my  head  is  so  terribly  clear,  that's  the  worst 
of  it.  .  .  .  I  have  been  fighting  for  so  long 

.     but  if  I  give  up  now " 

148 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Her  head  drooped,  and  her  breast  heaved  with 
a  long,  despairing  sigh. 

"  Give  up  ?  Don't  talk  such  ridiculous  non- 
sense !  " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't.  .  .  .  You  know,  it's  the 
faces.  Whenever  I  shut  my  eyes  I  see  faces !  Hor- 
rible ones — ugly  ones — and  beautiful  ones  that  are 
horrible,  too.  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  way,  for  Heaven's  sake !  " 

11  Very  well,  I  won't.     But " 

"  It's  absolutely  absurd  to  let  your  nerves  get 
the  upper  hand  of  you  to  that  extent.  What's 
become  of  your  will?  .  .  .  You've  been  work- 
ing too  much,  staying  in  the  house  too  much,  seeing 
people  too  much.  What  you  need  is  physical  life, 
and  a  lot  of  it.  Can't  you  go  and  live  outdoors 
somewhere — walk,  ride,  get  rid  of  this  idiotic  idea 
of  yourself " 

He  stopped,  acutely  conscious  of  the  rough- 
ness of  his  tone  and  her  drooping,  despondent 
look. 

"  Isn't  there  anyone  that  you  could  go  to — 
anyone  that  you  like  to  be  with?  " 

"  No.  I  cannot  go  away  from  my  mother — 
149 


The  Eternal  Spring 

just  now.  I  mean  we  haven't  money  enough,  and 
I  can't  think  where  I  should  go,  anyway." 

"  Is  there  no  one  that  you  care  for — more  than 
you  do  for  yourself?  " 

That's  a  curious  question !   he  thought. 

"  Oh,  yes     ...     that  is " 

"  That  is " 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Francesca  Rasolli " 

"  I  don't  mean  that.    Is  there  no  one  you  love?  " 

Clara  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"  No  one  at  all — unless  it  is  Francesca.  But  it 
isn't  that  I  care  about  myself  at  all,  you  know !  " 

"  No,  but  you  can't  get  rid  of  yourself.  If  you 
were  obliged  to  think  of  someone  else — someone 
that  you  loved — you  might  be  happy — and  at 
peace,  as  you  said." 

Clara  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can't  love  people,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  as  perverse  as  that. 
.  .  Don't  stand  in  your  own  light,  at  any 
rate.  Love  as  much  as  you  can." 

She  laughed  under  her  breath,  and  Carleton  felt 
an  impulse  to  shake  her,  and  to  take  her  in  his  arms 
and  kiss  her  into  reason. 

150 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  can't  love  any  of  those  people  down  there," 
she  said  suddenly.  "  I  hate  them !  " 

"  No,  you  don't.  You  didn't  hate  Morelli  this 
afternoon,  when  you  begged  his  pardon  with  tears 
in  your  eyes." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  them." 

She  shivered,  and  looked  about  her  rather 
wildly. 

"Are  you  tired?  "  demanded  Carleton.  "  Can 
you  walk  on  farther?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  tired!" 

"  Then  take  my  arm.  .  .  .  You  will  not 
mind  if  they  have  to  wait  for  you?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  mind.  Elizabeth  is  good  to  me. 
And  they  are — used  to  me,  you  know.  They  make 
allowances,  don't  cross  me,  and  all  that.  And 
that's  one  reason  I  can't  bear  to  be  with  them !  I 
can't  bear  it.  ...  And  I  must  go  away  from 
here,  for  I  distress  everyone  by  staying." 

They  were  walking  along  the  hill-crest  toward 
the  pine  wood.  Carleton  halted. 

"  But  you  are  not  warmly  enough  wrapped,"  he 
said. 

"  I  am  quite  warm." 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  You  were  shivering." 

"  I  assure  you,  I'm  not  cold."  She  wound  the 
scarf  about  her  head  and  neck  and  took  his  arm 
again.  "  Shall  we  walk  far?  " 

"  Till  you  are  tired." 

They  went  on  into  the  wood.  Its  shade  looked 
black  from  without,  but  within  it  was  broken  by 
moving  flecks  and  patches  of  light.  The  pine 
boughs  met  over  the  narrow  road  and  swayed  and 
murmured  in  the  breeze.  Then  the  trees  thinned 
and  there  was  another  clear  stretch.  Out  of  the 
shadow  they  came  into  the  moonlight.  The  liquid 
air  was  soaked  with  it — brilliant,  thick.  The 
colours  of  earth  and  sky  were  like  those  of  enamel 
and  precious  stones — pale,  yet  deep  blue  and  dusky 
green;  and  where  a  tree  stood  against  the  sky,  it 
seemed  cut  in  bronze. 

Clara  walked  silent,  as  if  in  a  dream;  and  Carle- 
ton  seemed  to  himself  burdened  with  a  double 
consciousness — his  own  and  hers.  In  his  anxiety 
to  say  and  do  the  right  thing,  he  strove  to  realise 
what  she  must  be  feeling — the  state  of  her  brain, 
excited  by  drugs  and  sleeplessness  to  a  point  cer- 
tainly not  quite  normal.  It  was  all  very  well  to 

152 


The  Eternal  Spring 

take  a  moral  attitude  toward  her  lack  of  self- 
control;  but  to  make  that  moral  attitude  effective 
was  another  thing.  Preaching  probably  wouldn't 
do  it.  The  "  terrible  clearness  "  she  had  spoken 
of,  and  all  this  outburst  of  hers,  meant  simply  that 
she  wras  for  the  moment  irresponsible.  She  had 
lost  the  feeling  for  reality.  She  was  walking  in  a 
cloud-world,  in  which  only  one  thing  was  definite 
to  her — her  own  self.  Otherwise,  she  could  never 
have  treated  him,  a  stranger,  as  she  was  doing — as 
though  they  were  two  disembodied  spirits,  free  of 
time  and  circumstance !  He  felt  a  certain  giddi- 
ness mount  to  his  own  brain  with  the  strangeness 
of  it,  and  the  sense,  too,  that  she  was  changed  for 
him.  She  was  near,  her  sweetness  had  the  power 
of  something  that  might  be  possessed — and  at  the 
same  time  she  was  inexpressibly  remote.  And  he 
felt  pain  for  her,  too.  She  seemed  to  him  cruelly 
wronged  by  circumstance.  A  passionate  will  to 
help  and  protect  her  sprang  up  in  him.  She  must 
be  protected  from  others,  and — infinitely  more 
difficult  —  from  herself.  .  .  .  But  how  to 
touch  without  hurting  her — or  himself  with  her — 
that  mental  maze  in  which  she  was  wandering? 

153 


The  Eternal  Spring 

How  to  quiet  that  morbid  sensibility  and  bring  her 
back  to  the  line  of  the  normal?  That  her  brain 
was  wrong  he  did  not  for  a  moment  believe;  but 
that  she  had  crossed  the  indefinite  border,  into  that 
Debatable  Land  where  the  nerves  and  the  will  play 
at  cross-purposes — the  land  that  leads  down  into 
the  desert  of  solitude — he  felt  with  terror.  She 
must  be  brought  back  to  life,  to  sane  human  rela- 
tions, to  joy.  But  who  could  do  it?  He  was  afraid 
now  even  to  speak.  Here  was  the  tangled  skein, 
and  to  touch  the  wrong  thread  meant  disaster. 
Perhaps  disaster  only  to  himself  and  his  relation 
with  her;  but  he  was  not  going  to  risk  that.  He 
did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do;  but  instinctively 
mended  his  pace.  .  .  .  She  walked  lightly  on 
beside  him,  her  hand!  resting  on  his  arm.  Her 
veiled  head  just  came  to  his  shoulder.  Looking 
down  at  her,  he  could  see  that  her  eyes  were  wide 
open  and  gazed  straight  ahead.  .  . 

The  road  they  were  following  became  narrower, 
more  irregular,  and  broken.  Finally,  at  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  it  divided,  and  two  paths  led  downward 
on  the  different  sides.  Carleton  stopped.  He  had 
no  exact  idea  how  long  they  had  been  walking. 

154 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  too  damp  to  go  down,"  he  said, 
"  and  the  path  looks  rough.  We  can  go  back  till 
we  find  the  road  going  up,  and  climb  a  little 
farther,  if  you  like." 

Clara  sank  down  on  a  rock,  and  sighed  deeply. 
"  Yes,  let  us  go  back,  then.  How  far  have 
we  come?  I've  never  been  in  this  place  be- 
fore." 

"  Nor  I.  We've  walked  about  two  miles  along 
this  road,  I  think.  Are  you  very  tired?  " 

"No  .  .  .  yes,  a  little."  She  dropped 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  spoke  uncertainly,  like 
a  sleeper  suddenly  awakened.  Her  figure  looked 
limp,  her  dress  trailed  in  the  dust  of  the  wayside, 
and  she  shivered  in  the  damp  air  that  rose  from 
the  valley. 

"  But  you  must  be  tired,"  she  said.  "  I  ought 
not  to  have  let  you  come  so  far."  She  was  making 
an  effort  to  speak  in  her  ordinary  tone,  but  evi- 
dently her  regained  consciousness  of  him  confused 
her.  "  I  am  very  sorry.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  to  go  on  indefinitely !  But 
we  can't — at  least,  in  this  direction.  And,  as  it  is, 
I'm  afraid  that  if  you're  a  little  tired  now  you'll 

155 


The  Eternal  Spring 

be  too  much  so  by  the  time  we  get  back  to  the 
house.  It  must  be  an  hour's  walk." 

"  So  much?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  had  no  idea 
we  had  come  so  far.  But  I  can't  be  too  tired !  I 
think  after  this  I  can  sleep." 

"  Then  I  shan't  feel  guilty  at  having  brought 
you  so  far." 

"  Oh,  I  am  the  guilty  one !  You  came  because 
of  me;  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  you." 

With  this  calm  and  prosaic  conversation,  they 
started  back.  And  now  Clara,  who  had  walked  as 
though  on  air,  began  to  show  weariness.  Her 
steps  dragged,  and  occasionally  she  stumbled. 
"  I'm  so  glad  to  be  tired!  "  she  said,  and  laughed 
a  little.  Carleton  held  her  hand  more  firmly  in 
his  arm.  He  was  immensely  relieved  that  her 
nervous  pitch  had  been  so  easily  lowered.  Appar- 
ently he  had  done  the  right  thing,  after  all.  She 
was  safe  for  the  time.  And  the  question  that  now 
filled  his  mind  was  of  her  attitude  toward  him. 
Had  he  been  anything  more  than  a  temporary 
makeshift,  a  mere  impersonal  silence  by  her  side? 
Could  this  experience,  that  meant  so  much  to  him, 
mean  nothing  to  her?  Had  it  been  chance  that 

156 


The  Eternal  Spring 

had  given  it  to  him,  or  some  need  in  her  that  she 
might  not  be  conscious  of,  that  had  impelled  her 
toward  him,  even  as  he  had  been  drawn  to  her? 
He  could  guess  nothing  from  her  manner.  They 
were  almost  silent  on  the  homeward  walk.  He 
left  it  to  her  to  talk  or  not,  and  she  said  nothing, 
except,  two  or  three  times,  "  I'm  so  sorry  I've  been 
such  a  trouble  to  you !  "  And  again,  "  I  would  go 
faster,  but  I  am  so  tired !  " 

Trouble!  Yes,  she  had  troubled  him,  deeply, 
and  this  temporary  quiet  that  she  had  gained 
brought  no  peace  to  him.  For  it  was  but  tempo- 
rary, he  felt.  She  would  be  in  need  again — of  some 
support,  some  guidance — if  not  of  him.  And  why 
not  of  him?  Perhaps  it  was  just  himself  that  she 
did  need. 

She  needed,  at  any  rate,  a  person  with  some  will 
and  common  sense.  She  needed  to  live  sensibly. 
She  needed  what  all  women  needed — happiness 
and  love.  Love!  It  would  be  easy  to  give  her 
love;  but  that  alone  would  be  only  a  torment  to 
her.  She  herself  must  love,  must  give  herself,  and 
be  properly  taken  care  of,  and  properly  controlled, 
as  all  women  should  be.  Then  these  thorns  of  hers 

157 


The  Eternal  Spring 

would  disappear — she  would  be  all  sweetness,  all 
colour,  and  joy!  The  graceful  white  creature,  so 
slender  and  maidenly,  so  delicate  and  warm ! 

She  clung  to  his  arm  as  they  went  down  the  steep 
road,  and  stumbled  in  pure  weariness.  He  would 
have  liked  to  take  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carry  her 
over  all  the  rough  places  in  her  path. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ELIZABETH  sat  awaiting  them  in  the  hall, 
and  they  were  coldly  received.  Clara 
made  a  brief,  halting  explanation. 

"  I  could  not  think  what  had  become  of  you — 
it  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock,"  said  Elizabeth, 
scanning  severely  the  girl's  dishevelled  appear- 
ance. 

Clara,  thus  treated  as  a  culprit,  looked  down, 
rather  affrighted,  at  the  hem  of  her  dress,  and  her 
shoes  covered  with  dust,  and  put  up  her  hands 
nervously  to  pin  back  a  loose  lock  of  hair.  Then, 
with  a  piteous  glance  at  Carleton  and  a  faint 
"  Good-night,"  she  fled  upstairs. 

Elizabeth  summoned  Roberto  to  close  the  house, 
and  led  the  way  into  the  library,  Carleton  meekly 
following. 

"  Really,  Barry,  I  think  this  is  too  bad  1  "  She 
faced  round  upon  him  when  he  had  shut  the  door. 
"  I  think  you  ought  to  have  been  a  little  more 

159 


The  Eternal  Spring 

responsible.  What  do  you  suppose  Dr.  Morelli 
thinks,  and  Clara's  mother?  She  was  almost  in 
hysterics  till  I  sent  her  off  to  bed." 

Carleton  suppressed  a  smile  at  this  picture.  "  I 
am  awfully  sorry — it's  my  fault.  We  walked  on 
a  little  way,  and  got  into  the  wood,  and  I  didn't 

know  the  place " 

'  Then  I  think  you  might  have  had  more  con- 
sideration for  me."  Her  tone  was  still  cold,  sharp, 
and  angry,  and  her  face  looked  astonishingly  hard. 
She  remained  standing,  and  still  held  about  her 
the  wrap  she  had  worn  on  the  walk.  Carleton 
realised  suddenly  her  long  watch,  and  now  felt 
genuinely  penitent. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times,"  he  said. 
''  I  see  how  it  must  seem  to  you.  But  perhaps  if  I 

could  tell  you   all   the   circumstances "     He 

paused,  considering  how  far  it  would  be  right  to 
Clara  to  tell  them. 

Elizabeth  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Oh,  the  circumstances !  I  know  them  well 
enough.  Clara  had  a  caprice  for  walking,  or  talk- 
ing, or  staying  out!  But  you  should  not  have 
allowed  her  to  do  it.  You  might  have  realised 

1 60 


The  Eternal  Spring 

how  it  would  look.  You  kept  us  all  waiting  here 
for  you  an  hour,  till  Morelli  had  to  go,  and  I  sent 
Mrs.  Langham  up,  and  now  I  have  been  waiting 
another  hour.  .  .  .  Of  course,  I  don't  believe 
it  was  your  fault,  either,  to  begin  with — only  that 
you  were  weak  about  it.  As  for  Clara — she  is  a 
perfect  coquette,  and  perfectly  heartless !  " 

"  Oh,  really,  Elizabeth !  "  protested  Carleton, 
"  you  misunderstand  the  whole  thing.  I  don't 
think  you'd  be  angry  with  her  if  you  knew.  The 
poor  girl  was  simply  wild  with  nerve-tension.  She 
hasn't  been  sleeping,  she's  been  taking  fool  drugs, 
and  I  think  that  long  walk  was  absolutely  what  she 
needed.  She's  tired  out  now,  and  she'll  probably 
sleep.  ...  As  for  coquetry,  I  can  only 
assure  you  that  she  hadn't  any  thought  of  me  in 
what  she  did.  She  treated  me  with  perfect 
impersonality." 

"  Did  she,  indeed!  And  how  do  you  know? 
How  do  you  know  what  or  how  much  she  thought 
of  you  ?  You  did  not  expect  her  to  make  love  to 
you  directly,  I  suppose?  Don't  be  absurd,  Barry." 

"  Forgive  me,  Elizabeth,  but  in  this  case  I  think 
you  are  a  little  absurd,"  said  Carleton  quietly. 

161 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  daresay.  But  do  you  think  I  haven't  seen 
what  has  been  going  on?  .  .  .  She  talked  to 
nobody  but  you  at  dinner;  this  afternoon  she  took 
you  off  alone  to  the  music-room,  and  when  I  sent 
Morelli  for  her  she  was  angry;  to-night  she  rushed 
off  with  you,  ahead  of  the  rest  of  us;  then  she 
keeps  you  out  for  two  hours  because  of  her 
nerves — and  still  she  has  no  thought  of  you! 
She  treats  you  perfectly  impersonally!  Frankly, 
where  is  the  absurdity — in  your  attitude  or 
mine?" 

Carleton  had  been  looking  steadily  at  Elizabeth; 
but  now  he  dropped  his  eyes — not  from  a  sense  of 
guilt,  but  because  it  hurt  him  to  see  her  like  this. 
She  was  fairly  beside  herself  with  the  rage  of  jeal- 
ousy. Instinct  ruled  her,  and  there  was  no  use  in 
appealing  to  her  reason.  And,  besides,  her  instinct 
might  be  right.  But,  no  less,  this  expression  of  it 
was  unpleasant  to  Carleton ;  and  it  also  made  him 
deeply  uneasy.  Elizabeth's  imperious  way  of  call- 
ing him  to  account  could  only  mean  that  she  felt 
she  had  a  claim  on  him  that  was  practically  a 
monopoly.  And,  indeed,  had  he  not  given  her 
such  a  claim? 

162 


The  Eternal  Spring 

He  moved,  and  spoke  sharply,  not  willing  to 
think  of  this  at  the  moment. 

"  I  don't  believe  we'd  better  continue  this  talk 
now.  It's  late,  as  you  say,  and  you're  tired.  I  am 
very  heartily  sorry  for  having  caused  this  disturb- 
ance. I  do  keenly  regret  that  part  of  it.  It  was 
an  unfortunate  accident.  But — in  the  same  cir- 
cumstances I  should  undoubtedly  do  the  same  thing 
again." 

And  now  his  deep-set  eyes  met  hers  steadily,  and 
his  face  had  the  expression  of  calm  resolve,  to 
which  its  physical  formation — square  chin  and 
heavy  jaw — gave  a  certain  grimness.  Now  it  was 
Elizabeth  who  quailed.  She  moved  to  a  chair  that 
stood  near,  and  clasped  her  hands  for  support  on 
its  back.  Her  lips  trembled. 

"  You  would  not — consider  my  feelings,  then, 
at  all » 

The  change  from  the  imperious  to  the  appeal- 
ing was  not  accomplished  all  at  once,  but  Carleton 
perceived  that  it  was  coming,  and  beat  a  hasty 
retreat,  not  to  be  outflanked. 

"  I  have  too  much  consideration  for  them  to 
trouble  you  any  longer  to-night,"  he  said,  still  keep- 

163 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ing  a  firm  front.  "  To-morrow  I  hope  you  won't 
think  quite  so  hardly  of  me."  And  he  went  to  the 
door  and  held  it  open  for  her. 

Elizabeth  searched  his  face  desperately.  No, 
there  was  no  sign  of  softness,  or  of  distress.  He 
was  not  going  to  yield  in  the  least.  She  motioned 
a  dismissal  to  him,  and  bowed  her  head.  But 
Carleton  could  not  go  in  quite  that  way.  He  came 
back  to  her,  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Won't  you  forgive  me?  "  he  asked,  and  under 
the  humility  of  his  voice  there  sounded  the  unmis- 
takable note  of  indifference.  It  was  involuntary; 
he  would  have  been  glad  not  to  know  it  himself, 
much  less  had  he  any  wish  to  express  it.  But  under 
its  cruel  power  Elizabeth  could  not  help  trembling. 
She  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Barry,"  she  said  in  a  low,  agi- 
tated tone.  The  anger  of  her  aspect  had  become 
drooping  and  almost  voiceless  bitterness.  Her 
unspoken  appeal  was  that  he  should  justify  him- 
self, take  her  in  his  arms.  It  was  his  tenderness 
that  her  jealous  paroxysm  had  unreasonably  tried 
to  provoke,  and  now  her  misery  made  another 
attempt. 

164 


The  Eternal  Spring 

But  now  Carleton  was  less  vulnerable;  and  he 
dared  not  show  pity  as  if  it  had  been  tenderness. 
He  was  up  in  arms  to  resist  just  this  demand.  Not 
one  step  farther  could  Elizabeth  move  him.  But 
it  was  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  cowardice 
that  he  kissed  her  cold  fingers  and  left  her. 

He  went  to  his  room,  but  with  no  idea  of  sleep- 
ing. He  honestly  meant  to  think,  and  to  settle  his 
course  of  action,  for  he  realised  that  this  night 
marked  an  important  change  of  some  sort;  but 
instead  he  found  himself  living  over  again  the  time 
he  had  spent  with  Clara.  Details  of  her  look,  her 
manner,  and  speech,  came  back  one  by  one.  Some 
were  clear  and  vivid  as  light;  some  he  had  to 
search  for,  like  the  faded  lineaments  of  the  saint 
in  the  gold  picture  on  his  wall.  But  it  was  always 
her  image  that  preoccupied,  that  filled  his  mind 
and  his  sense.  She  had  really  taken  possession  of 
him.  No  woman  had  ever  so  impressed  him.  She 
had  set  her  mark  clear  and  deep  on  his  imagina- 
tion. Her  unhappiness  touched  his  heart.  Per- 
verse, childish  she  might  be,  but  that  unhappiness 
was  desperately  real.  Her  beauty  thrilled  him  in 
remembrance — it  was  appealing  as  it  was  exquisite. 

165 


The  Eternal  Spring 

It  was  warm  and  sensuous  with  all  its  delicacy. 
The  danger  in  the  situation  had  sunk  for  him  out 
of  sight.  Here  was  only  a  beautiful  and  interest- 
ing girl  whom  he  might  know  intimately.  There 
was  no  question  of  past  or  future.  Just  to  realise 
her  absorbed  all  his  faculties.  It  was  delicious  to 
be  so  absorbed,  and  he  let  himself  go.  An  emo- 
tional interest  so  keen  was  like  new  life  to  him. 
And  if  before  he  had  been  like  a  shell  stranded  on 
some  dry  beach,  now  a  warm,  living  tide  of  feeling 
was  flowing  in  upon  him,  enveloping  him  with 
liquid,  mysterious  murmurs,  floating  him  out  on 
a  sea  of  infinite  possibilities.  .  .  . 

In  this  state  of  being,  he  fell  asleep;  and  it  was 
broad  day  when  he  awoke  with  a  sense  of  happi- 
ness for  which  at  first  he  could  not  account.  In 
fact,  he  could  not  account  for  it  at  all,  since  on 
examination  it  vanished  in  perplexity.  Why, 
indeed,  should  he  be  happy?  The  thing  that  con- 
fronted him  now  was  his  position  with  Elizabeth, 
and  the  fact  that  he  must  have  some  kind  of  expla- 
nation with  her.  The  present  situation  at  La  Fon- 
tanella  was  quite  untenable.  There  must  be  a  new 
order  of  things;  and  this  in  itself  was  disqui- 

166 


The  Eternal  Spring 

eting,  for  what  could  he  definitely  hope  for  just 
now? 

He  admitted  to  himself  that  he  dreaded  to  see 
Elizabeth,  and  he  put  off  seeing  her  as  long  as 
possible.  He  knew  that  she  was  to  be  found  in  the 
library,  unless,  indeed,  she  might  be  even  more 
accessible — on  the  terrace,  perhaps.  Therefore, 
he  carefully  secluded  himself  in  his  room  and 
wrote  letters.  He  had  not  before  written  a  letter 
since  leaving  America.  And  now,  though  he  took 
the  occasion  to  write  to  his  mother,  he  was  mainly 
concerned  with  two  other  people.  To  one,  a  suc- 
cessful alienist  whom  he  knew  personally,  he  wrote 
a  full  account  of  Clara's  history  as  he  knew  it,  and 
asked  for  an  opinion.  The  second  person  was  a 
man  of  fifty,  of  wide  social  acquaintance,  living  in 
Washington;  and  Carleton  asked  him  if  he  had 
known  Charles  Langham,  or  if  he  knew  anyone 
who  had  known  him. 

Then,  luncheon  being  announced,  he  went  down 
with  his  letters  in  his  hand,  feeling  somewhat  like 
a  truant  schoolboy.  He  found  Elizabeth  with 
the  Blandons  and  the  inevitable  Mr.  Harris,  in 
the  hall;  and  she  greeted  him  with  conventional 

167 


The  Eternal  Spring 

cheerfulness.  He  was  on  the  alert  for  Clara's 
coming;  but  as  they  went  directly  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  he  perceived  the  table  laid  for  five,  it 
was  evident  that  neither  she  nor  her  mother  were 
to  be  seen.  Nothing  was  said  about  them;  and 
Carleton  was  a  good  deal  disturbed.  He  won- 
dered if  Elizabeth's  treatment  of  Clara  the  night 
before  had  meant  a  painful  break,  and  miserably 
hoped  not.  Elizabeth  was  unusually  vivacious, 
and  Carleton's  preoccupation  was  not  remarked, 
except  by  Mrs.  Blandon.  That  lady  demanded 
his  opinion  on  various  domestic  problems  with  a 
strong  flavour  of  autobiography,  such  as:  Should 
a  husband  open  his  wife's  letters?  Should  there 
be  perfect  confidence  between  husband  and  wife, 
or  wasn't  it  a  better  policy  to  have  some  reserves? 
Should  a  man  who  liked  to  amuse  himself  quarrel 
with  his  wife  because  another  man  fell  in  love  with 
her?  Carleton's  responses  did  not  please. 

'  Your  thoughts  are  wool-gathering,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton.  May  I  have  three  guesses  where  they  are?  I 
can  guess,  too,  why  you  haven't  come  to  see  me, 
though  I  have  asked  you  " — she  counted  on  her 
fingers — "  one,  two,  three  times.  I  wonder  where 

168 


The  Eternal  Spring 

that  pretty  Miss  Langham  is  to-day — do  you 
know?"  She  eyed  him  with  frank  malice. 

"  We  must  ask  Mrs.  Craven,"  said  Carleton; 
and  he  addressed  Elizabeth :  "  We  have  been 
wondering,  Mrs.  Blandon  and  I,  where  Miss 
Langham  is." 

"  I  believe  she  has  gone  to  see  the  Rasollis," 
Elizabeth  responded  as  coolly.  "  And  Mrs. 
Langham  has  an  attack  of  nerves.  She  lost  her 
maid  this  morning;  and  she  has  to  find  another  in 
a  hurry,  as  she  is  packing." 

"  Oh,  going  away?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blandon. 
44  Isn't  that  a  pity — we  shan't  have  any  more  of 
that  dear  delightful  Bach!  Where  are  they 
going,  Elizabeth  dear?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  yet.  Clara  wants  some 
place  in  the  hills,  where  it  will  be  cool  and  she  can 
work.  .  .  .  We  shall  all  be  flitting  soon,  I 
suppose.  When  do  you  go  to  England?  " 

Carleton  was  left  in  quiet  for  some  moments, 
but  not  exactly  in  peace.  Packing!  That  meant, 
no  doubt,  that  there  had  been  a  quarrel.  He  felt 
wretched  about  it;  and  slow  anger  rose  in  him 
against  Elizabeth  for  having  made  him  and  her- 

169 


The  Eternal  Spring 

self  ridiculous.  What  did  she  mean  to  do  with' 
him,  anyway,  supposing  it  in  her  power  to  dispose 
of  him?  And  did  she  think  that  she  could  dispose 
of  him?  Could  she,  as  a  matter  of  fact? 

Apparently  she  was  no  more  in  haste  than  he 
for  a  meeting.  After  luncheon  she  said  that  she 
and  Mrs.  Langham  were  going  to  drive  to  town 
on  business.  And  in  due  time  Mrs.  Langham 
appeared,  and  bestowed  on  Carleton  a  cool  bow 
as  she  got  into  the  carriage.  He  was  left,  with 
the  knowledge  that  they  would  bring  Clara  back 
with  them,  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Mrs.  Blandon, 
who  poured  coffee  for  the  three  men  on  the  ter- 
race, and  made  herself  entertaining  to  two,  at 
least,  of  them.  Her  husband  apparently  was 
entertained  by  everything  she  said  or  did;  and 
Mr.  Harris  was  embarrassed  and  pleased  at  hav- 
ing to  defend  himself  from  the  charge  of  deserting 
her  for  Mrs.  Craven. 

Presently  Carleton  broke  away,  and  went  wan- 
dering about  the  house  and  garden — first  into  the 
music-room,  where  it  was  cooler  than  outside, 
then  out  to  the  bench  in  the  shade  by  the  fountain. 
The  garden  was  beginning  to  show  the  effect  of 

170 


The  Eternal  Spring 

several  hot  days;  and  now,  especially  in  breathless 
mid-afternoon,  its  varying  greens  seemed  faded  a 
tone  lighter,  and  their  surfaces  slightly  crisped. 
Even  the  endless  murmur  of  the  water  pouring 
from  its  shell  had  a  tired  sound. 

He  hardly  knew  how  the  time  passed  till  their 
return;  it  seemed  long,  yet  the  noise  of  the  car- 
riage-wheels surprised  him.  He  went  out  to  meet 
them.  Mrs.  Langham  had  just  gone  into  the 
house;  Clara  and  Elizabeth  stood  for  a  moment 
hand  in  hand  as  the  carriage  turned  to  go  to  the 
stable.  On  seeing  Carleton,  Elizabeth,  whose  face 
showed  emotion,  went  quickly  in,  and  in  a  moment 
Clara  followed.  But  first  she  put  out  her  hand  to 
Carleton,  and  said: 

"  Do  you  know  we  are  going  away,  to-morrow 
or  the  next  day?  .  .  .  But  I  want  to  thank 
you — for  last  night.  I  want  to  tell  you — 5t  helped 
me  to  decide  something  important." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  bright,  soft  gaze,  and 
was  going  on.  But  Carleton  kept  her  hand. 

"You  are  going?"  he  almost  stammered. 
"But  where?" 

"  I  don't  just  know  yet,  till  I  have  answers  to 
171 


The  Eternal  Spring 

some  letters.  .  .  .  But  I  must  go  in — here 
comes  the  tea." 

Roberto  carried  the  table  and  its  furniture  out 
under  the  cypresses,  and  Carleton  waited  there  for 
the  three  ladies.  Mrs.  Langham  did  not  appear 
again.  Elizabeth  came  first,  and  made  the  tea; 
and  she  said  to  him,  with  a  kind  of  nervous  soft- 
ness, "  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Barry, 
before  dinner — do  you  mind?  " 

"  Gladly,"  he  answered.     "  I  want  it,  too." 

But  he  was  watching  for  Clara  with  all  his  eyes 
and  mind,  and  Elizabeth  did  not  find  it  easy  to 
talk  about  indifferent  matters  during  the  few 
minutes  they  were  alone. 

Clara  came,  and  Carleton  got  up  to  place  a 
chair  for  her.  At  the  same  time  the  bell  at  the 
gate  rang,  and  some  visitors  came  in — some  Ital- 
ians whom  Carleton  had  not  seen  before — two 
men  and  a  woman.  Instantly  the  conversation 
became  voluble,  staccato,  punctuated  by  gay  laugh- 
ter from  the  little  Contessa,  who  smoked  one  ciga- 
rette after  another  rapidly,  and  who  looked  like  a 
slim,  neat,  bright-eyed  bird.  They  talked  half  in 
Italian,  half  in  French,  the  latter  to  include  Carle- 

172 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ton,  who,  however,  easily  dropped  out,  as  he  pre- 
ferred. He  was  not  sitting  near  Clara,  and  felt 
the  more  free  to  look  at  her.  She  was  pale,  but 
he  was  struck  by  the  quietness  of  her  look.  It  was 
almost  peaceful — a  peace  out  of  pain;  it  was  as 
though  she  were  resting  after  a  struggle.  Her 
fingers  were  busy  with  the  lacework  she  liked  to 
do,  and  she  kept  her  eyes  on  it  a  good  deal,  only 
lifting  them  with  a  smile  now  and  then  to  make  a 
brief  comment  or  answer  a  question. 

Elizabeth  and  the  other  three  kept  up  the  bur- 
den of  the  talk.  At  least,  Carleton  saw  that  it 
was  a  burden  to  Elizabeth,  and  that  she  grew 
more  nervous  as  the  tea-drinking  was  prolonged. 
He  wondered  what  his  talk  with  her  would  mean, 
what  she  wanted  of  him.  And  then  he  forgot  all 
about  her.  Clara  was  there — soon  she  would  be 
gone.  Where,  and  could  he  follow  her?  His 
glances  at  her  grew  more  frequent,  more  pro- 
longed. He  was  not  conscious  of  studying  her, 
or  even  of  feeling  the  grace  of  her  bent  head,  her 
hands  and  figure.  It  was  simply  that  he  could  not 
help  looking  at  her.  His  thoughts,  without  coher- 
ence or  order,  whirled  about  her  as  a  storm-centre. 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Gradually  from  their  chaos  an  idea — or,  rather,  a 
single  feeling — emerged,  clear  and  powerful.  It 
was  the  feeling  that  she  was  now  near  to  him, 
that  all  the  possibilities  of  life  lay  folded  in  her, 
that  it  was  possible  she  might  be  the  nearest  and 
dearest  of  all  beings  to  him  forever.  And  he  was 
so  strongly  moved  that  he  totally  forgot  his  sur- 
roundings, even  himself.  All  his  soul  was  in  his 
eyes  as  he  gazed  at  the  girl — a  gaze  of  fixed  intens- 
ity, a  deep  look  that  concentrated  many  thoughts 
in  its  burning  light. 

How  long  it  lasted  he  could  not  know,  for  he 
was  not  aware  of  himself  till  the  interruption  came 
— his  name  imperiously  uttered  by  Elizabeth.  She 
had  put  out  her  hand  to  take  his  empty  cup,  which 
he  had  been  holding  indefinitely,  and  as  he  met 
her  eyes  confusion  came  upon  him.  She  got  up 
instantly,  asking  her  visitors  to  go  into  the  garden 
to  see  the  pink  lotos.  Clara  rolled  up  her  lace 
and  went  with  them.  Carleton  stayed  behind. 
He  did  not  want  even  to  talk  with  Clara  at  that 
moment.  He  waited  for  Elizabeth  to  come  back 
and  say  what  she  had  to  say  to  him;  and  presently, 
after  her  people  had  driven  off,  she  did  come.  She 

174 


The  Eternal  Spring 

held  herself,  it  struck  Carleton,  unusually  straight, 
and  as  she  sat  down  and  motioned  him  into  a  seat 
facing  her,  her  attitude  was  erect  and  rigid. 

"Let  us  have  it  out,  Barry!  "  she  said  breath- 
lessly. "  And  first,  I  am  sorry  for  last  night.  You 
will  believe  me  in  that,  for  you  must  know  I  am 
sorry  to  have  made  an  idiot  of  myself.  I  was 
jealous,  as  you,  of  course,  could  see.  I  have  made 
it  all  right  with  Clara.  She  is  not  going  because 
of  that — at  least,  I  think  she  has  quite  forgiven 
me.  And  you  will  forgive  me,  too,  won't  you? 
I — I  understand  now.  Last  night  I  only 
suspected — I  didn't  see  how  serious  it  was.  Now 
I  know." 

She  stopped,  breathing  quickly;  and  the  hard 
lines  of  her  face  showed  what  she  suffered  in  con- 
trolling herself.  The  fluency  of  her  words  made 
them  seem  almost  like  a  speech  learned  by  rote; 
and  yet  she  seemed  absolutely  sincere. 

"  Don't,  Elizabeth  !  "  he  begged.  "  You  are 
right  in  one  thing,  though — there  was  nothing  to 
suspect." 

"  No,  for  what  I  suspected  is  certainty.  Oh, 
Barry,  don't  deny  that  you  are  in  love  with  her !  " 

175 


The  Eternal  Spring 

He  would  perhaps  have  denied  or  extenuated, 
but  she  forestalled  him. 

"  Don't  deny  it,  or  I  shall  think  badly  of  you — 
and  Heaven  knows  I  don't  want  to  do  that!  Do 
you  think  I  can't  see  it  now,  when  you  look  at  her? 
Why,  all  the  world  might  see!  .  .  ." 

Now  she  paused,  and  he  might  have  denied,  but 
could  not  or  would  not. 

"  As  for  anything  between  us  two,"  Elizabeth 
went  on  quickly,  "  of  course,  that  counts  for  noth- 
ing. It  was  folly — I  knew  it  at  the  time;  I  knew 
it  meant  nothing,  though  Heaven  knows  I  tried 
hard  to  believe  in  it!  " 

She  half-laughed,  hysterically,  and  then  the 
weeping-fit  seized  her  by  the  throat. 

"  I  am  a  fool,"  she  cried;  "  but  don't  think  too 
little  of  me !  Don't  talk  to  her  of  me.  .  .  . 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  caring  for  you,  Barry;  nor 
even  that  you  tried  to  care  for  me  and  couldn't. 
.  .  .  I  shall  care  for  you  still,  and  all  the  more 
for  that.  And  I  am  glad,  glad  that  it  is  not  worse 
— that  we  didn't  make  a  worse  mistake. 
I  don't  grudge  you  to  her,  Barry.  .  .  ." 

"Elizabeth!"    he  murmured  wretchedly. 
176 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  No,  I  can't  talk  any  more  now !  "  she  cried, 
and  turned  to  flee.  Then  she  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  recapture  her  dignity,  her  magna- 
nimity. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  later  about — Clara," 
she  said  faintly.  "  Good-bye,  now " 

They  were  standing  in  the  cypress-shade,  and 
yet  in  face  of  the  blank  windows  of  the  house. 
But  Elizabeth  put  up  her  arm,  drew  his  head 
down,  and  kissed  him. 


177 


CHAPTER  X 

ELIZABETH  released  him  as  the  lover  of 
Clara.  Thus  for  her  he  was  both  free 
and  bound.  His  most  definite  sensation 
was  thankfulness  to  be  free.  If  she  could  but  let 
it  rest  there !  But  that,  perhaps,  would  have  been 
to  ask  too  much — of  Elizabeth. 

It  was  true,  too,  that  he  was  "  taken  " — netted 
by  the  charm  of  a  girl.  It  was  true  that  Clara 
moved  him  as  Elizabeth  never  had  done — as  no 
other  woman  had  done.  But  he  would  much  have 
preferred  to  be  let  alone,  and  that  Elizabeth 
should  recognise  that  she  was  not  exactly  con- 
cerned in  this  affair.  But  perhaps  she  could  not 
be  expected  to  see  that — all  at  once.  He  was  not 
eager  for  this  further  talk  with  her.  He  did 
not  want  to  talk  about  Clara.  But  Elizabeth 
wanted  it. 

To  begin  with,  in  their  talk  later  that  night,  she 
tacitly  accused  Carleton  of  having  deceived  her 
about  the  import  of  his  adventure  with  Clara. 

"  Not  that  it  is,  I  suppose,  any  of  my  business 
11 7.8 


The  Eternal  Spring 

now.  Not  that  it  matters !  "  she  said  passion- 
ately. "  Except — yes,  it  does  matter,  for  it 
destroys  my  idea  of  you,  and  I  did  want  to  keep 
that.  You  had  always  been  honest  with  me, 
Barry!" 

Carleton  looked  his  despair.  "  You  will  have 
to  take  my  word,  Elizabeth,  that  I  told  you  the 
truth." 

"  But,  Barry,  she  broke  to-day  with  Morelli 
absolutely!  What  else  does  that  mean  but  that 
something  happened  to  make  her  sure? 
But  I  will  believe  you !  It  hurt  me  so  much  to 
think  that  you  would  evade,  and  shuffle,  and  hide 
the  truth — and  from  me.  Why  should  you  hide 
it  from  me?  Do  you  think  I  want  anything  but 
your  happiness?  Don't  I  give  you  up  without 
question — even  before  you  could  show  that  you 
wanted  it?  .  .  .  What  would  you  have  done 
if  I  had  not  seen?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carleton. 

"  Don't  you  ?  But  I  can't  see  how  you  can 
doubt.  There  isn't  any  doubt,  is  there,  Barry? 
No,  there  can't  be — I  saw!  But  you  do  love 
her?  " 

179 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Let  us  take  it  for  granted,  as  a  working 
hypothesis,  that  I  do.  At  any  rate,  I  am  suffi- 
ciently interested  in  her." 

"  It  isn't  exactly  the  same  thing!  " 

The  place  was  that  of  their  interview  the  night 
before,  and  the  hour  was  almost  as  late;  for  they 
had  been  dining  out,  with  Mr.  Harris,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  city,  and  the  three  had  had  a  long  drive 
home.  Elizabeth  was  quite  gorgeous  to-night  in 
green  gauze,  with  some  opal  chains;  and  her  face, 
flushed  with  excitement,  wore  its  tragic  mask.  It 
was  dramatically  bitter,  as  in  the  old  days,  when 
James  Craven  represented  the  barrier  to  bliss. 
She  was  as  ready  as  ever  to  see  barriers.  In  life's 
steeplechase  Elizabeth  would  never  take  a  hazard. 

It  was  plain,  however,  that  she  thought  Carle- 
ton  should  profess  himself  ready  for  any  and  all. 
Perhaps  her  vanity  could  be  soothed  by  seeing  him 
rapt  away  in  a  mad  infatuation.  At  any  rate,  she 
seemed  irritated  by  his  reserve. 

"  I  thought  you  would  want  to  talk  to  me  about 
her,"  she  said. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  talk  to  me,"  he 
parried. 

1 80 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  must  do  the  talking !  You  are  as 
niggard  of  your  words  as  if  you  were  coining  your 
heart!" 

"  That's  what  I  should  have  to  do  to  please 
you,  Elizabeth!  But  you  said,  if  you  remember, 
that  you  wanted  to  talk  to  me." 

"  And  so  I  do."  She  sighed,  and  set  her  mouth 
in  its  bitter  line.  "  But  it  is  hard  to  be  set  aside 
so  quickly.  Not  even  to  be  confided  in !  .  .  . 
Ah,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  always  lag  superfluous  on 
the  stage!  I  seem  never  to  see  when  I  am  super- 
fluous." 

"  Perhaps  you're  too  ready  to  see  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  quickly, 
with  a  glance  rather  wild  and  suspicious. 

"  Only  that  you  can  never  be  superfluous  to 
me." 

"  Oh !  "  Her  exclamation,  her  laugh,  were 
bitterness  distilled — its  very  essence.  Gall  and 
wormwood  twisted  her  mouth  awry.  "  Pray, 
don't  be  gallant,  Barry!  And  let  us  leave  my 
stupid  self  out  of  it.  Oh,  I  know  it  isn't  your  fault 
that  it  got  in !  Now  we'll  put  it  out  in  the  cold — 
wretched  thing ! — and  shut  the  door  on  it." 

181 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  got  up  from  her  chair  beside  the  window 
an'd  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back.  Her 
spangled  dress  undulated  over  the  floor  and  glit- 
tered festively;  and  the  restlessness  of  the  little 
points  of  light  glancing  all  over  her  was  repeated 
in  the  glinting  blues,  and  greens,  and  reds  of  her 
opals,  and  in  her  eyes  and  motions. 

"  Well !  "  she  said  sharply,  as  she  came  back 
and  seated  herself. 

Carleton  remained  standing,  and  leaned  against 
the  window-frame,  looking  now  out  at  the  moon- 
lit garden  and  now  at  Elizabeth,  who  sat  silent 
for  some  moments,  looking  at  the  floor. 

"  It  is  rather  hard  to  talk  as  I  meant  to,  since 
you  won't  say  anything,"  she  finally  said.  "  What 
I  had  in  mind  depended  on  the  supposition  that 
you  were  very  serious  about  Clara;  that  you — 
well,  would  want  to  marry  her.  What  on  earth 
are  you  smiling  for !  " 

"  In  wonder,  Elizabeth,  at  your  speed."  But 
Carleton  corrected  this  irony,  and  became  as  grave 
as  she.  "  Say  that  I  am  very  serious — that  I  do 
want  to  marry  her.  What  then?" 

"What  then?  But  I  don't  like  your  tone! 
182 


The  Eternal  Spring 

'  Say  '  it — *  take  it  for  granted  ' — I  don't  un- 
derstand you  I  Am  I  imagining  the  whole 
thing?" 

"  No.    No,  you're  not  imagining  it.    But " 

Carleton  moved  suddenly,  and  went  out  on  the 
narrow  little  balcony  overlooking  the  garden.  It 
had  become  clear  to  him  that  he  could  not  possibly 
talk  about  Clara  now — at  least,  to  Elizabeth — 
and  also  that  he  could  not  let  her  talk  to  him.  He 
knew  what  was  in  her  mind — what  had  been  in 
his  own.  But  Clara's  misfortunes,  her  unhappi- 
ness,  could  not  be  discussed  between  them.  The 
poor  girl's  soul  could  not  thus  coldly  be  held  to 
the  light  and  turned  this  way  and  that!  What 
Elizabeth  thought  mattered,  after  all,  nothing. 
She  could  not  give  any  real  light.  The  taper  of 
curiosity  had  no  place  here.  Better  darkness  and 
silence. 

A  throb  of  pain  bred  the  desire  to  escape,  to  be 
alone.  And  he  turned  back,  to  free  himself  of 
Elizabeth's  clutch. 

"  Tell  me  just  one  thing — when  are  they  going, 
and  where?  " 

"  You  mean  to  go  with  them?  " 

'83 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Not  exactly  with  them — probably  after  them." 

"  Shall  you  speak  first  to  Augusta?  I  fancy  she 
expects  it." 

Elizabeth  had  been  wounded,  and  in  that  speech 
she  showed  her  teeth. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carleton.  "  But  at  least 
you  won't  anticipate  me?  " 

It  was  a  question  in  form,  a  demand  in  meaning. 

"  I — don't — know,"  she  answered  slowly.  "  If 

Augusta  asks  me In  any  case,  I  could  only 

give  my  impression,  and  tell  her  that  I  am  not  in 
your  confidence." 

She  rose,  and  her  whole  attitude  breathed 
offence,  hostility.  Carleton  looked  at  her  sadly. 
He  realised  by  now  her  abysmal  want  of  tact. 
But  it  hurt  him  to  see  that  he  had  hurt  her. 

"  We  seem  to  have  quarrelled,"  he  said.  "  Was 
that  necessary?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  it  was,"  Elizabeth  answered  with 
the  same  hardness.  "  It's  my  fault,  of  course. 
I've  always  been  quarrelsome.  ...  I  would 
have  been  content  with  half  a  loaf,  Barry;  but 
you  don't  give  me  even  a  crust.  It's  a  little  hard, 

all  of  a  sudden,  to  be  shut  out  so  completely " 

184 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  took  up  her  wrap  from  the  chair. 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  said  Carleton  gravely,  offer- 
ing his  hand. 

She  looked  at  him,  startled. 

"Not — not,  of  course,  really  good-bye?  You 
don't  think  of " 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  go  away." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  when  she  goes.  But  not  till 
then !  Stay  on  a  few  days — give  me  time  to  get 
over  this  a  little;  I  couldn't  let  you  go  like  this. 
You'd  think  of  me  always  as  a  jealous,  horrible 
old  woman !  Say  you  will  stay  a  little  after  they 
are  gone — only  a  day  or  so.  I  won't  try  to  keep 
you  long!  " 

"  If  you  wish,  I  will  stay.  I  don't  enjoy  going 
like  this." 

"  Then  we  shall  be  reconciled — only  not  to- 
night! I  must  try  to  understand  you — or  to  get 
used  to  the  idea  that  I  can't  understand  you,  and 
that — I  don't  matter  to  you.  That's  the  bitter 
thing.  I've  lost  you — for  I  was  something  to  you 
once.  How  I  wish  you  had  never  come  back!  " 

Carleton,  when  he  had  finally  achieved  solitude, 
185 


The  Eternal  Spring 

was  almost  fain  to  wish  it  himself.  It  was  very 
painful  to  him,  this  breach  with  Elizabeth — for  it 
must  be  that,  he  saw,  even  if  they  were  to  be 
"  reconciled."  Elizabeth  could  not  bear  to  be 
deposed  from  her  place  of  chief  interest.  He 
must  go  away,  and  instead  of  the  haunting,  pleas- 
ing memory  of  her  that  he  had  had,  all  these  years, 
there  would  be  the  melancholy  picture  of  his  defec- 
tion. Yes,  it  might  have  been  better  if  he  had  not 
come  back. 

But  then  he  might  never  have  seen  Clara — 
poor,  sweet,  unlucky  Clara,  who  needed  his  help, 
and  should  have  it,  and  all  he  could  give,  himself 
into  the  bargain,  if  she  would. 

Yes,  but  why  should  she?  Who  was  he,  after 
all,  that  a  charming  girl  should  take  him  in 
exchange  for  herself?  He  appraised  himself  as 
he  must  appear  to  her — a  man  of  thirty,  neither 
handsome  nor  brilliant,  with  no  money  or  worldly 
position  worth  mentioning,  and  no  prospect  of 
being  anything  else  than  he  now  was.  No,  no, 
decidedly  there  was  nothing  here  to  tempt  her! 
Morelli  might  have  been  the  better  match. 

But — she  had  definitely  broken  with  Morelli. 
186 


The  Eternal  Spring 

And  that  must  have  been  what  she  meant  by  her 
sweet  speech  to  him:  that  last  night  had  helped 
her  to  decide  something  important.  And  her  look 
of  peace  and  calm,  after  she  had  acted  on  that 
decision,  proved  that  it  was  a  right  one.  Perhaps 
that  was  what  she  had  been  thinking  or  feeling  out 
on  that  long,  silent  walk  with  him.  Perhaps  her 
restless  misery  of  the  day  before  had  been  due  to 
Morelli's  pursuit,  to  her  own  uncertainty. 

As  to  Elizabeth's  idea  that  he  had  influenced 
Clara  in  any  direct  way — that  it  was  interest  in 
him  that  had  moved  her — he  rejected  it  totally. 
Yet  he  had  helped  her  somehow;  she  liked  and 
trusted  him.  And  she  was  unhappy.  In  spite  of 
her  attractions,  she  was  not  in  the  way  of  any 
brilliant  worldly  fortune.  And,  from  what  he 
knew  of  her  character,  he  thought  that  she  did  not 
care  for  that.  She  had  the  artist's  temperament 
and  resources.  So  far,  then,  she  might  be  content 
with  what  he  could  give — if  she  cared  for  him. 

But,  then,  she  was  ambitious,  they  said,  and  she 
herself  had  said  it;  she  wanted  a  "  career."  That 
was  natural  enough.  She  wanted  some  kind  of 
expression;  she  was  a  creature  full  of  life,  desir- 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Ing  experience,  desiring  to  escape  from  an  uncon- 
genial air.  It  was  doubtless  for  this  reason  that 
she  had  thought  of  marrying  and  had  given 
Morelli  some  hope — and  then  had  not  been  able 
to  care  enough  for  him. 

Tf  this  was  the  explanation,  what  became  of  the 
obstacle  of  the  family  history?  What  of  that  hor- 
rible shadow  of  madness  that  had  hung  over  her? 
This  was  all  vague  to  him.  By  turns  it  se-emed  to 
envelop  her  in  fear  and  then  to  fade  quite  away. 
Was  it,  perhaps,  under  the  influence  of  this  fear 
that  she  had  given  up  the  idea  of  marriage?  Had 
she  thought  to  defy  it,  and  then  found  that  she 
could  not? 

There  was  only  one  way  to  get  the  answers  to 
these  questions — from  Clara  herself.  And  only 
if  they  should  become  intimate,  if  he  could  tell  her 
that  he  cared  for  her,  and  she  perhaps  could  come 
to  care  for  him.  Otherwise  questions  would,  he 
felt  now,  be  impossible. 

As  to  the  formal  interview  with  Mrs.  Langham, 
suggested  by  Elizabeth,  his  imagination  revolted 
at  it.  The  convention  of  declaring  himself  a 
suitor  for  Clara's  hand  was  not  in  place  here. 

188 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Marriage  might  not  be  the  outcome.  At  any  rate, 
Clara  must  be  wooed,  not  under  the  eyes,  figura- 
tive or  actual,  of  any  onlooker.  She  was  lonely 
of  soul ;  she  slept  within  a  circle  of  fire,  or  a  high 
wall  of  thorns.  One  did  not  approach  her  by  a 
door  politely  opened. 

He  feared  to  approach  her  at  all.  She  seemed 
to  him  like  some  infinitely  delicate  winged  creature 
of  the  night,  to  be  marred  or  broken  at  a  touch. 
He  rejoiced  that  she  was  going  away  from  Eliza- 
beth's neighbourhood.  For  in  relation  to  her, 
Elizabeth  seemed  to  be  all  blundering  foot  and 
heavy  hand.  But  yet  her  going  frightened  him. 
He  hesitated  to  follow  her  without  her  leave ;  and 
supposing  she  did  not  want  him  near  her?  Mrs. 
Langham,  too,  might  make  some  trouble  about 
the  conventions.  Apparently  she  thought  now 
that  some  sort  of  apology  or  explanation  was  due 
from  him.  He  was  resolved  not  to  make  any, 
however;  and  yet  he  must  have  the  mother's  coun- 
tenance. He  could  not  ignore  her,  much  as  he 
disliked  to  recognise  the  convention  of  her  guar- 
dianship over  Clara.  In  the  end,  therefore,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  have  some  sort  of  talk  with 

189 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Mrs.  Langham  before  their  departure,  which  was 
set  for  the  next  day. 

But  this  was  more  easily  resolved  on  than 
secured.  A  great  deal  of  turmoil  appeared  to 
attend  Mrs.  Langham's  preparations  for  moving. 
Two  new  maids,  according  to  Elizabeth's  report, 
were  tried  and  dismissed,  and  meantime  the 
unfortunate  lady  had  to  put  up  with  the  services 
of  Clara's  woman,  who  could  not  do  her  hair  so 
that  she  was  "  lit  to  be  seen."  For  this  reason 
or  some  other,  she  remained  practically  in- 
visible. 

"  Nerves,"  murmured  Elizabeth  when  Carleton 
asked.  "  And  the  hot  weather.  But  I  daresay 
she'd  see  you." 

"  It  isn't  a  formal  audience  I  want,"  he  objected. 
"  I'll  take  my  chance." 

This  was  about  noon,  and  he  counted  on  seeing 
Clara  first.  But  Clara,  it  developed,  was  to  spend 
the  day  in  making  farewell  visits.  She  did  not 
appear  until  eight  o'clock.  Then,  after  much 
uncertainty,  Mrs.  Langham  found  herself  equal 
to  coming  down  to  this  last  dinner  at  La  Fonta- 
nella.  She  was  frankly  triste,  and  managed  with 

190 


The  Eternal  Spring 

unusual  good-will  to  make  her  gloomy  mood  seem 
graceful. 

"  I  can't  bear  the  idea  of  leaving  this  sweet 
place,  and  all  you  nice  people,"  she  said  plain- 
tively. "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  being  dragged  off  to 
a  desert.  I  do  really  hate  the  country.  I  shall 
have  nothing  to  listen  to  but  crickets  and  Clara's 
eternal  music.  There  will  be  nobody  but  tourists 
and  peasants.  I  can't  think  why  she  wants  to  go 
to  such  a  place.  I  do  wish  you  were  all  coming, 
too." 

"  I  wonder,  if  I  should  knock  at  your  door 
sometime,  whether  I  should  be  admitted?"  said 
Mr.  Harris  romantically. 

"  Do  try  it,  my  dear  Mr.  Harris,"  said  Mrs. 
Langham  indolently.  Leaning  her  bare  elbow  on 
the  table,  she  inclined  her  Roman  head  toward 
him  and  bent  on  him  the  full  splendour  of  her 
dark  eyes.  Mr.  Harris  visibly  blushed.  "  I'm 
sure  it  would  be  most  charitable  of  you  to  try." 

"  N-not  that,"  he  stammered.  "  I  should  come 
like  a  beggar,  asking  alms." 

"Oh,  beggars — horrid  creatures!  Don't  come 
like  that,  but  walk  boldly  in  and  ask  for  dinner." 

191 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I'll  be  as  bold  as  I  can." 

"  Really,  do  you  think  of  coming  up  to  Bagni? 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  England." 

"  Oh,  I  shall,  later.  But  I  think  I  may  put  in 
a  few  weeks  in  the  Tuscan  hills  first.  I  hear  your 
destination  is  a  charming,  quiet  place.  Do  you 
know  Montaigne  spent  a  summer  there?  And 
Heine?  And " 

"  No,  really?  I  thought  it  was  quite  uncivil- 
ised." 

"  Is  anything  in  Italy  uncivilised?  I  can't 
imagine  it." 

Clara  had  scarcely  spoken  up  to  this  point;  but 
now  she  leaned  forward  and  addressed  Mr. 
Harris. 

"  It  is  quite  civilised  enough.  Francesca  Ra- 
solli  goes  there  every  summer,  and  she  says  it 
is  charming  and  quite  off  the  track  of  tourists.  I 
hope  we  shall  see  you.  We  are  going  to  have  a 
queer  old  stone  house,  and  I  don't  dare  ask  any- 
body to  stay  in  it  till  I  see  it,  but " 

Mrs.  Langham  interrupted  bluntly. 

"  Good  gracious,  child,  we  can't  have  people  to 
stay  with  us.  We  shall  be  lucky  if  we  can  get  food 

192 


The  Eternal  Spring 

for  ourselves — I  don't  suppose  there's  a  cook  in 
the  place.  Mr.  Harris  will  be  quite  comfortable 
at  the  hotel,  I  daresay." 

"  I  shall  be  quite  happy  if  I  may  just  look  in  on 
you  now  and  then,"  said  Mr.  Harris,  looking 
gratefully  at  Clara.  And  then,  that  his  allegiance 
to  Elizabeth  might  not  be  thought  to  waver,  he 
turned  to  her  with  a  reference  to  England. 

Clara  became  silent  again  and  looked  sad.  She 
sat  between  Elizabeth  and  Carleton,  and  there 
could  be  no  talk  of  the  sort  Carleton  was  impatient 
for.  The  meal  seemed  hours  long,  and  in  fact 
there  was  an  extra  course  of  sweets  in  elaborate 
and  curious  form — the  farewell  offering  of  the 
chef  to  the  departing  guests.  But  when  it  was 
over,  Elizabeth  managed  immediately  to  leave 
Carleton  alone  with  Mrs.  Langham  at  one  end  of 
the  terrace. 

"  What  a  day  this  has  been !  "  she  sighed. 
"  That's  the  worst  of  these  late  springs — the  hot 
weather  pounces  on  you  suddenly.  After  all,  I 
am  glad  we  are  going,  pleasant  as  this  has  been. 
Do  you  go  to  England,  too?  " 

The  tone  of  this  enquiry  made  Carleton  think 

193 


The  Eternal  Spring 

that  she   was  deliberately  smoothing  his  path — 

very  likely  on  a  hint,  or  something  broader,  from 

Elizabeth. 

"  I  don't  think  so.     In  fact,  I  think  I  shall  stay 

in  Italy  this  summer." 

"  Oh,  really !    I  should  have  supposed  a  bracing 

atmosphere — say  St.  Moritz — would  be  better  for 

you." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  St.  Moritz.    What 

I  should  like  to  do  is  to  what  Mr.  Harris  contem- 
plates." 

"  But  he  contemplates  Elizabeth." 

"  I  mean  I  should  like  to  go  to  Bagni." 

"  Elizabeth   won't   forgive  me   if  you   desert, 

too." 

"  But  in  any  case  I  should  not  go  to  England." 
Carleton  remained  grave  and  Mrs.  Langham 

flippant. 

'  You  alarm  me.    You  know  Elizabeth  doesn't 

like  people  changing  their  minds." 

"  I  can't  help  that.    But  I'm  quite  sure  my  plans 

don't  seem  important  to  her.     I  hadn't  made  up 

my  mind,  you  see,  anyway.     I  haven't  had  any 

mind  since  I  got  here." 

194 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  No,  really?  You  have  done  remarkably  well 
without  one,  then.  I  should  not  bother  getting  it 
back  if  I  were  you." 

"  But  I  have  got  it  back.  One  sign  of  it  is  that 
I  know  what  I  want  to  do." 

"  That's  a  bad  sign — since  in  this  world  one 
can't  often  do  what  one  wants  to  do.  Is  that  the 
only  sign  you  have?  " 

"  At  present  the  only  one.  '  I  hope,  however, 
that  I  may  develop  wit  enough  to  accomplish  what 
I  want." 

"  Oh,  if  it  depended  on  that !  But  these  things, 
dear  Mr.  Carleton,  depend  on  Fate." 

"  My  going  to  Bagni,  for  instance?  " 

"Oh,  are  we  still  talking  about  that?  I  can't 
see  what  else  your  going  depends  on." 

"  Supposing  it  depended  on  the  chance  of  seeing 
you  and  Miss  Langham?  For  I  should  certainly 
not  go  if  I  were  not  to  see  you." 

"  But  why  shouldn't  you  see  us?  I'm  sure  we 
shall  be  only  too  glad  to  see  anybody — you  in 
particular." 

This  doubtful  cordiality  was  as  much  as  Carle- 
ton  needed  at  present. 

195 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Then  I  shall  hope  to  go,"  he  said. 

Clara  had  not  come  out  with  the  others,  and  he 
had  been  watching  the  doorway  for  her,  wonder- 
ing if  she  meant  he  was  not  to  have  a  chance  to 
speak  with  her  alone,  or  if  he  might  find  her  on 
search.  Elizabeth,  at  some  little  distance,  was 
listening  to  Mr.  Harris  over  the  coffee-cups. 
Carleton,  forced  to  wait  Mrs.  Langham's  pleas- 
ure, found  the  quarter  of  an  hour  that  she  was 
now  pleased  to  keep  him  frightfully  long.  She 
talked  on  in  a  bored  way  about  the  nuisances  of 
travelling  in  Italy;  and  finally  abruptly  rose  and 
gave  him  her  hand. 

"  I  shall  very  likely  not  see  you  in  the  morning 
— we  start  at  some  barbaric  hour.  So,  good-bye! 
— or,  rather,  a  rivederla,  since  we  may  meet 
later." 

Carleton  walked  beside  her  to  the  door.  She 
called  out  to  Elizabeth : 

'Where  is  Clara,  do  you  know?  She  must 
come  up  early.  I  am  frightfully  tired,  and  I'm 
going  to  bed.  Good-night,  dear." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  went  on 
with  slow  grace.  Mr.  Harris  hurried  after  her. 

196 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Mrs.  Craven  says  she  thinks  Miss  Langham 
went  to  the  music-room  to  sort  out  her  music. 
Shall  I  give  her  any  message?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you."  Carleton,  standing  in 
the  hall,  saw  her  radiant  smile  at  Mr.  Harris,  and 
wondered.  Why  should  she  care  about  that 
fellow?  She  gave  the  flattered  professor  her 
hand  and  a  farewell  that,  compared  to  Carleton's, 
was  quite  emotional.  Was  it,  he  wondered,  meant 
as  a  snub  to  him? 

He  went  out  by  the  side-door  into  the  court- 
yard, saw  a  light  in  the  music-room,  and  walked 
slowly  toward  it.  His  heart  was  beating  hard — 
he  admitted  to  himself  that  he  was  afraid ! 


197 


CHAPTER  XI 

CLARA  stood   by  the  piano,  looking  over 
a  heap  of  loose  music,  among  which  were 
a   good    many   manuscript   pages.     The 
chosen  ones  she  tossed  over  to  her  maid  Julie,  and 
Julie  arranged  them  in  a  neat  pile.     Clara  had  a 
pink  rose  in  her  hair,  and  an  Egyptian  scarf  shot 
with  gold  hung  in  heavy,  shimmering  folds  over 
her  shoulders  and  arms.     She  greeted  Carleton 
with  a  smile. 

"  I've  just  been  saying  good-bye  to  your  mother 
— and  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  not  see  you, 
either,  in  the  morning,  or  at  least  might  not  have 
a  chance  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  No,  we  go  so  early.  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
It  has  been  so  pleasant  here,  hasn't  it?  And  Eliza- 
beth has  been  so — more  than  kind.  She  has  been 
so  good  to  me !  I  don't  know  why  she  should  be. 
I  am  only  glad  on  her  account  to  be  going  away, 
for  I  am  a  troublesome  person." 

198 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  spoke  in  quick,  soft  sentences,  her  eyes  on 
the  music,  which  she  went  on  sorting. 

"  I  don't  think  anyone  except  yourself  can  be 
glad  that  you're  going.  .  .  .  But  perhaps 
you'll  find  the  change  and  the  higher  air  a  good 
thing.  You'll  walk  and  live  outdoors  more,  I 
hope." 

"Yes;  and  they  play  tennis  there,  and  I  shall 
ride,  perhaps.  And  I  hope  to  do  some  work.  Did 
I  tell  you  I  am  trying  to  write  something — a  little 
opera?  " 

She  looked  up  and  laughed  quite  gaily. 

"  No,  are  you,  really?    Do  tell  me  about  it." 

"  Oh,  very  likely  I  shall  not  do  anything  with 
it.  I  have  written  some  songs,  but  I  never  tried 
anything  so  large  as  this.  It's  short — two  acts, 
or,  rather,  one,  with  an  intermezzo — on  the  theme 
of  Andersen's  story,  '  The  Little  Sea-Maid.'  Am 
I  not  ambitious?  " 

"  You  are  very  secretive,  I  think.  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  before?  " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  It  doesn't  amount  to  any- 
thing yet,  and  probably  never  will.  It  is  only  a 
young-lady  attempt,  a  way  of  passing  the  time." 

199 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  should  like  immensely  to  hear  more  about 
it.  Perhaps  I  may,  if  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  see 
you  at  Bagni." 

She  raised  her  head  with  a  quick  motion  and 
looked  sharply  at  him. 

"  At  Bagni?     Do  you  think  of  going  there?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  of  it.  I  told  your  mother  that  I 
hoped  to  go,  and  she  was  good  enough  not  to 
freeze  me  out,  though  I  can't  say  she  welcomed 
me  very  warmly !  " 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  England? 
Perhaps  you  are  going  later." 

"  No,  I'm  not  going  at  all." 

Clara  held  a  few  last  sheets  of  music  in  her 
hands  and  gazed  at  them ;  then  gave  them  to  Julie 
and  dismissed  her  with  the  sheaf  to  finish  packing. 
She  sat  down  on  the  piano-stool  and  looked  up  at 
Carleton. 

"And  Elizabeth?  Does  she  know — you  are 
not  going?  " 

"  She  knows  it  quite  well.  She  knows  I  am 
going  to  follow  you,  if  I  am  permitted." 

"  Permitted !  "     She  appeared  quite  aghast. 

"  I  mean  by  that,  if  you  will  say  that  I  may 
come  to  see  you  sometimes." 

200 


Clara  stood  by  the  piano,  looking  over  a  heap  of  loose  music." 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But,  of  course — of  course,  we  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you.  Why  should  you  ask  with  all  this 
formality?  " 

For  reply,  Carleton  looked  straight  into  her 
eyes.  She  bore  this  look  for  a  long  moment,  then 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry !  "   she  said  passionately. 

She  turned  away  from  him,  her  face  still  hid- 
den, and  leaned  against  the  keyboard.  Carleton 
waited,  hardly  daring  to  look  at  her.  The  scent 
of  the  rose  in  her  hair,  the  trembling  glimmer  of 
gold  on  her  shoulder,  came  to  him  blurred,  yet 
poignant.  At  last  she  looked  up,  and  her  eyes 
were  wet  and  misty. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  come !  "   she  cried. 

"  You — don't  mean  that,  do  you  ?  You  won't 
—forbid  me?" 

"  I  can't  forbid  you.  But  I  don't  want  you  to 
come — now." 

"  Then,  if  you  don't  want  me,  I  can't,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Carleton  dully. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that  I  don't  want  you.  I 
mean — I  don't  know  what  I  mean.  .  .  .  Yes, 
I  do  know,  too.  I  mean  that  I  ought  not  to  want 
you  to  come." 

201 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Oh,  if  that  is  all!" 

A  flash  of  joy  lit  up  his  face,  and  he  made  an 
impetuous  dash  at  her  hand,  which  she  snatched 
away. 

"All  I    But  it  is  everything !    Oh,  I  am  sorry !  " 

She  looked  so  the  picture  of  grief  that  Carleton 
did  not  dare  look  happy. 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  sorry  for,"  he  pro- 
tested. "  Nothing  that  you  can  help,  at  least." 

"  No,  I  can't  help  it  now.     But  I  might " 

"  What  might  you  have  done?  " 

"I  needn't  have  done  what  I  did!  You  are 
sorry  for  me  now,  and  I  wanted  you  to  be.  I  can't 
help  wanting  people  to  care  for  me,  and  be 
interested  in  me — and  I  try  to  make  them! 
And  then  it  all  ends  in  unhappiness  and  I  am 
ashamed!  " 

Again  the  tears  brimmed  over  her  eyes,  and  she 
struck  her  hand  roughly  against  the  wood  and 
sprang  up. 

"  Elizabeth  was  right  to  speak  to  me  as  she  did, 
and  to  be  angry!  I  deserved  it!  I  had  a  bitter 
scene  to  go  through  yesterday,  too.  It's  all  my 

fault.    And  now  you — Elizabeth " 

202 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  It  isn't  your  fault.  It's  nothing  you've  done, 
or  haven't  done.  It's  nothing  you  can  change. 
You  can't  help  being  beautiful  and  lovable." 

"  Oh,  that's  just  what  I'm  not!  I  am  hard  and 
selfish.  And  it's  just  for  that  reason  that  I  try  to 
be  attractive.  I  have  an  awful  thirst  for  admira- 
tion and  affection.  I  try  to  get  more  than  I  ought 
to  have.  And  sometimes  I  get  it — and  I  am 
punished!  " 

Carleton  saw  Morelli  in  his  mind's  eye,  and 
behind  him  a  vague  crowd  of  ghostly  lovers;  he 
did  not  exactly  like  being  relegated  to  the  com- 
panionship of  these  shades. 

"  You  won't  be  punished  through  me,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  Nor  have  you  got  anything  more  from 
me  than  you  ought  to  have.  Nor  shall  I  offer  you 
anything  you  ought  not  to  have — nor  anything 
you  don't  want.  If  that  is  understood,  may  I  come 
to  Bagni  ?  For  my  own  great  pleasure,  and  on  my 
own  responsibility?  I'm  not  exactly  a  spring 
chicken,  you  see,  and  I  have  looked  out  for  myself 
for  a  great  many  years." 

"  Ah,  now  you're  laughing  at  me,"  said  Clara, 
flushing.  "  I  don't  deserve  that,  at  least." 

203 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Nor  do  I  deserve  that  you  should  think  so, 
do  I?" 

"  I  must  go  now,"  Clara  responded.  She  dried 
her  eyes  and  looked  rather  implacably  at  Carle- 
ton.  "  That  wasn't  a  pretty  speech  of  yours." 

"  No,  but  I  don't  in  the  least  want  to  make  you 
pretty  speeches.  I  shall  not  make  any  when  I 
come  to  Bagni." 

"'When' — you  are  very  confident!  And  if 
you  are  going  to  make  unpleasant  speeches,  why 
should  I  want  you  to  come?  " 

'  There  is  a  golden  mean,  isn't  there?  " 

"Yes,  yours — silence!     You're  safer  there!" 

"  Then,  may  I  come  and  be  silent?  " 

"  I  rather  like  silence." 

Clara  looked  round  the  room  vaguely,  and 
repeated,  "  I  must  go  now.  Good-night." 

"  Will  you  play  something  before  you  go?  " 

"  Something  short  and  easy?  " 

Slipping  down  on  the  stool,  she  struck  some 
rough,  crashing  chords  in  the  bass.  Then  she 
played  a  Tarentelle,  full  of  devilish  leaps  and 
bounds,  the  contortions  and  convulsions  of  the 
spider-bitten.  With  a  reckless  air  she  demanded: 

204 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Do  you  like  that?" 

"  No." 

Clara's  eyelids  drooped.  She  became  medita- 
tive, demure,  meek.  Then  she  began  to  play  a 
quaint,  plaintive  melody,  and  in  a  voice  light, 
sweet  and  exquisitely  true,  she  sang: 

"  Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 
You  haste  away  so  soon; 
As  yet  the  early-rising  sun 
Has  not  out-lived  his  noon. 

Stay,  stay, 
Until  the  hasting  day 

Has  run 

But  to  the  evensong, 
And,  having  prayed  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along. 

"  We  have  short  time  to  stay  as  you, 
We  have  as  short  a  spring; 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 
As  you,  or  anything. 

We   die, 
As  your  hours  do,  and  dry 

Away, 

Like  to  the  summer's  rain, 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning's  dew, 
Ne'er  to  be  found  again." 
2O5 


The  Eternal  Spring 

The  song  died  away  softly,  in  appealing  sweet- 
ness. Carleton  had  not  heard  her  sing  before. 

"You  beautiful  creature!"    he  murmured. 

"  Do  you  like  that?  "   she  asked. 

"  I  adore  it.     Won't  you  sing  it  again?  " 

"Oh,  no — it's  late;  really,  I  must  go."  She 
rose  and  shut  the  piano.  "  It  is  good-bye  to  this 
dear  place,"  she  said  dreamily.  "  How  sweet  it 
is  here.  How  lucky  Elizabeth  is  to  be  able  to  live 
here  always!  How  tired  I  am  of  wandering 
about!  "  She  went  slowly  toward  the  door,  and 
paused  for  a  farewell  glance. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  room !  " 

They  crossed  the  courtyard  together  and 
entered  the  hall. 

"  And  now  I  must  say  good-bye  to  you,"  said 
Clara  stopping,  "  for  I  shall  not  see  you  in  the 
morning.  Pray  don't  come  down.  I  hate  people 
to  see  me  off !  " 

"  Good-bye,  then,  till  we  meet  at  Bagni." 

"  Ah,  you  may  think  better  of  that !  " 

"  I  shall  think  better  and  better  of  it — and  I 
shall  think  of  nothing  else,  Clara." 

Her  last  look  at  him  was  melancholy;  but  it 
206 


The  Eternal  Spring 

could  not  dim  Carleton's  happiness.  He  speedily 
forgot  all  that  did  not  chime  with  his  mood;  and 
remembered  only  her  exquisite  colour  against  the 
gold  scarf,  her  light,  plaintive  voice,  her  subtle 
eyes,  her  tears,  her  willingness  to  see  him  again. 
And  he  wondered  how  soon  it  would  be  decent  for 
him  to  go. 


207 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  Blandons  were  at  La  Fontanella  the 
last  few  days  of  Carleton's  stay;  per- 
haps to  play  propriety.  They  had  closed 
their  villa,  and  in  a  week  they,  with  Elizabeth, 
were  to  travel  to  England,  Mr.  Harris  following 
anon;  and  they  were  all  to  be  neighbours  in  Sur- 
rey. They  made  those  last  days  superficially  gay 
and  easier  for  Carleton  to  get  through.  Never- 
theless, it  was  not  exactly  a  happy  time. 

La  Fontanella  had  not  yet  begun  to  be  disman- 
tled, as  it  would  be  in  part  before  Elizabeth  left. 
All  its  treasures  kept  their  order,  yet  the  place  had 
to  Carleton  a  deserted  air.  Its  peace  and  charm 
for  him  were  wrecked;  now  it  was  melancholy  and 
forlorn. 

He  thought  more  often  in  these  days  of  James 
Craven;  and  now  part  of  the  deserted  look  of  the 
villa  seemed  to  come  from  the  absence  of  that 
quiet  old  figure,  in  the  Roman  cloak  and  broad 
hat,  pacing  the  terrace  or  sitting  at  a  table  covered 

208 


The  Eternal  Spring 

with  books  and  papers  in  the  garden.  Craven 
had  loved,  had  made,  in  fact,  every  detail  of  the 
chosen  beauty  of  La  Fontanella — the  place  was 
his  creation.  Carleton  realised  now  how  com- 
pletely Craven  had  fitted  into  it,  how  it  had 
belonged  to  him.  And  he  reviewed  with  unpleas- 
ant feelings  his  own  scheme  of  stepping  easily  into 
the  dead  man's  shoes. 

He  thought  he  saw  Mr.  Harris  preparing  to 
make  the  same  mistake,  and  sardonically  he 
watched  the  progress  of  the  professor's  wooing. 
Mr.  Harris  was  cerebral,  conscientious,  self- 
conscious.  He  had  spent  all  his  mature  years  in 
an  atmosphere  of  somewhat  defeminised  feminin- 
ity. Week  after  week,  year  after  year,  he  had 
lectured  calmly  on  the  science  of  poetry  and 
romance,  to  rows  of  girls  who  gave  him  never  a 
flutter  nor  thrill.  And  now  in  his  middle  years, 
when  he  might  justly  have  been  thought  immune, 
romance  had  seized  upon  him.  The  charm  of 
Italy  had  laid  violent  hands  upon  him;  the  pleas- 
ant lure  of  La  Fontanella  had  taken  him  captive. 
He  had  fallen  in  love  with  these  things,  and  with 
Elizabeth. 

209 


The  Eternal  Spring 

That  Elizabeth  was  not  displeased  might  be 
guessed  from  the  fact  that  she  was  virtually  taking 
him  with  her.  Carleton  was  half  consoled,  half 
disgusted.  For  the  aesthetic  fitness  of  things  it 
would  have  been  better  that  Elizabeth  should 
resign  herself  to  being  lonely  and  Mr.  Harris 
remain  a  bachelor.  Middle-aged  ardours  made, 
somehow,  just  now  an  unpleasant  spectacle ! 
These  things  belonged  to  youth,  to  the  spring. 
Spring,  youth,  love — they  were  one  and  the  same  I 
And  as  to  the  belated  flowers  of  a  frozen  clime, 
poor,  pale  stunted  blossoms  they  must  be,  hardly 
deserving  the  name.  Could  one  love  at  forty  and 
fifty,  with  life  virtually  lived,  fixed  in  a  mould  o,f 
habit,  with  all  the  legacy  of  memory  and  regret? 
The  pink  flush  of  spring  could  not  come  back  to 
the  brown  boughs  of  autumn.  Joy,  passion — they 
were  for  the  freshness  of  youth!  To  miss  them 
then  was  to  miss  them  forever.  Flower  o'  the 
quince / 

Carleton  contemplated  his  own  egotism  un- 
abashed. He  saw  it  objectively — it  was  a  Fact, 
in  harmony  with  the  great  march  of  things.  After 
this  fashion  the  world  is  made,  and  perpetually 

210 


The  Eternal  Spring 

made  anew  in  the  same  image.  Love — what  is 
Love  but  the  supreme  self-assertion  of  the  Ego! 
The  great  demand,  made  under  all  the  forms  of 
an  offering,  a  sacrifice! 

Selfish?  Of  course,  he  was  supremely  selfish. 
Elizabeth  now  was  to  him  almost  as  though  she 
had  never  been.  He  had  never  given  her  any  part 
of  himself.  All  the  past  of  his  relations  with 
unloved  women,  superficial  as  the  writing  on  a 
slate,  was  washed  out  now.  There  was  nothing 
but  the  future.  .  . 

It  was  like  a  resurrection,  a  new  birth.  A  few 
weeks  since  he  had  seemed  dead,  physically  and 
mentally.  And  now,  to  his  own  feeling,  he  had 
cast  that  dead  skin,  like  a  lizard,  and  come  out 
fresh  and  agile.  The  sap  of  spring  had  risen  and 
rejuvenated  the  tree.  But  no !  that  figure  dis- 
pleased him.  For  the  tree  had  bloomed  before, 
and  he  never!  This  was  his  real  springtime.  In 
spite  of  those  bare  spaces  on  his  temples,  those 
lines  and  the  seared  look  that  comes  of  irregular 
living,  he  was,  after  all,  consumedly  young!  The 
hurry  and  confusion  of  youth  and  spring  were  in 
his  pulses.  An  intense  restlessness  came  upon  him 

211 


The  Eternal  Spring 

so  soon  as  Clara  had  gone.     "I  let  Lisa  go,  and 
what  good  in  life  since?     .     .     ." 

La  Fontanella  was  empty  to  him  now.  He 
longed  to  be  gone  after  her.  Withal,  he  was 
rather  abashed  to  find  out  how  clearly  the  situa- 
tion was  understood.  Mrs.  Blandon  did  not  spare 
him. 

"  How  oddly  it  has  all  turned  out!  "  she  cried 
with  her  candid  malice.  '  You  know,  we  all 
thought  it  was  to  be  a  romance — you  and  dear 
Elizabeth — a  long-lost  friend  from  over-seas,  and 
all  that.  And  now  we  have  two  romances  instead 
of  one,  and  it  seems  that  I  discovered  Mr.  Harris 
just  for  Elizabeth.  I  am  awfully  good  at  that — 
discovering  people  for  other  people.  But  I  don't 
see  exactly  what  good  it  is  to  me." 

'  You  seem  to  get  a  lot  of  amusement  out  of  it," 
Carleton  suggested. 

"  Oh,  amusement,  yes — but  amusement  is  so 
trivial.  What  I  like  is  interest;  but,  of  course, 
one  can  never  be  really  interested  in  other  people's 
affairs.  Frankly,  though,  I  am  more  interested  in 
yours  than  you  might  think." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you." 
212 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  In  other  words,  '  Mind  your  own  affairs '  ? 
But  the  great  trouble  is,  I've  got  none  of  my  own 
just  now.  I  do  envy  you !  " 

Her  inquisitive  gaze,  critical,  satirical,  became 
quite  intolerable  to  Carleton.  He  could  not  see 
anything  essentially  humorous  in  the  situation, 
unless  it  were  Mr.  Harris.  For  the  moment  the 
obvious  fact  escaped  him  that  the  love-affairs  of 
other  people  are  always  rather  ridiculous,  when 
they  are  not  tragic,  and  sometimes  even  then.  He 
felt  a  possible  element  of  tragedy  in  his  own  case, 
and  Mrs.  Blandon's  jocularity  grated  fearfully 
upon  him.  He  did  not  like  her  pitying  allusions 
to  Morelli,  who,  she  said,  had  rushed  off  some- 
where away  from  Florence.  Still  less  could  he 
bear  any  reference  to  Clara.  His  desire  to  escape 
from  this  atmosphere  of  curiosity  and  gossip 
became  overwhelming. 

He  stayed  but  four  days  after  the  departure  of 
the  Langhams,  and  for  the  first  two  of  these  he 
did  not  see  Elizabeth  alone.  It  was  painful  to 
him  to  see  her  at  all.  She  went  about  her  usual 
avocations  calmly  enough,  but  with  a  joylessness 
of  aspect  that  seemed  to  fling  a  weight  of  reproach 

213 


The  Eternal  Spring 

on  him.  And  he  felt  the  weight;  he  reproached 
himself.  Yet,  as  he  looked  back  on  the  history  of 
their  relation,  it  all  seemed  to  him  inevitable,  and 
he  could  not  but  feel  that  he  would  act  in  the  same 
way  again,  if  it  were  to  be  lived  over.  He  had 
been  honest,  after  all,  to  himself  and  her. 

When  the  day  for  his  leaving  was  actually  set, 
Elizabeth  made  an  effort  over  herself  not  to 
appear  unhappy.  And  this  seemed  to  touch  the 
spring  of  her  old  kindness  for  him,  and  set  it  flow- 
ing again.  She  softened,  the  hard  mask  was  put 
aside,  she  showed  herself  to  him  frankly  sad,  but 
no  longer  bitter  nor  exigent.  They  had  a  long 
talk  the  day  before  he  was  to  go,  on  a  late  after- 
noon in  the  garden. 

To  begin,  Elizabeth  was  remorseful  for  her 
behaviour  of  the  past  week.  She  mourned  over 
her  own  selfishness  and  egotism,  and  Carleton's 
spoilt  pleasure. 

"  And  I  did  want  you  not  to  go  away,  hating 
me,  and  this  place,  and  all!  You  won't  believe  it, 
but  that  really  is  what  I  wanted  you  to  stay  on  for 
a  little  longer — to  see  if  I  could  not  give  you  some 
pleasanter  recollection  to  carry  away.  .  .  . 

214 


The  Eternal  Spring 

More  egotism !  For  you  will  forget  all  about  me, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  it  won't  matter  to  you  whether 
I  am  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  And,  even  so,  it  has 
been  horribly  hard  for  me  to  show  even  this 
amount  of  decency !  Ah,  I  am  badly  trained — or, 
rather,  I  am  not  trained  at  all!  I  am  a  spoilt 
child — at  my  age!  I  can't  help  sulking. 
Are  there  people,  do  you  think,  who  really  can 
command  themselves,  and  behave  prettily  when 
they  are  boiling  inside?  I  can't  believe  it.  Yet  I 
know  that  most  people  behave  better  than  I." 

"  Elizabeth,  no  one  is  better,  more  sweet !  Why 
should  you  think  you  have  any  amends  to  make  to 
me?  It  shows  your  sweetness  that  you  should 
think  so.  ...  It  is  so  much  the  other  way 
that " — he  paused  and  retreated  from  this  quak- 
ing ground.  "  No !  It  is  not  that,  either.  You 
cannot  feel  that,  and  it  is  false  sentiment  for  me 
to  feel  it.  You  don't  feel  that  I  have  behaved  ill, 
do  you,  Elizabeth?  " 

He  put  his  hand  on  hers  appealingly;  and  she 
with  both  her  hands  seized  his  in  a  pained  grasp 
and  bent  her  head  low.  The  broad  brim  of  her 
hat  hid  her  face  from  him,  all  but  the  sensitive, 

215 


The  Eternal  Spring 

thin-lipped  mouth  and  pointed  chin.  It  was  a 
long  moment  before  she  could  speak. 

"  No,  Barry,  no — it  was  all  inevitable." 

He  looked  at  her,  much  moved.  Her  sad,  pas- 
sionately gentle  voice  and  clinging  hands  brought 
back  that  appealing  Elizabeth  whose  charm  had 
dwelt  with  him  so  many  years.  And  now  that 
she  abnegated  all  claim,  she  had  more  than  her 
old  power;  her  power  and  charm  were  real,  and 
in  her  sadness  and  loneliness  she  was  deeply  touch- 
ing. He  saw  her  closed  lips  quiver.  Then  she 
spoke  again. 

"  It  is  all  right  now.  I  care  only  that  we 
shouldn't  part  in  anger,  or  coldness — or  disgust. 
You  must  have  been  disgusted  with  me,  and  I  did 
deserve  it.  But  yet  I  do  deserve,  too,  that  you 
should  think  a  little  kindly  of  me,  for  I  have 
so  real  an  affection  for  you,  and  always  shall 
have " 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with 
bright,  sad,  caressing  eyes,  and  Carleton  kissed  her 
hands  and  took  them  in  his  with  a  firmer  clasp. 

"  And  I  for  you,"  he  said.  "  It  has  always  been 
so,  ever  since  I  first  knew  you.  It  made  me 

216 


The  Eternal  Spring 

wretched  to  quarrel  with  you  and  lose  you.  But 
now  we  shall  be  as  good  friends  as  ever — perhaps 
better." 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  At  least,  not  for 
some  time.  You  will  be  too  absorbed  to  have  any 
place  for  me.  I  do  so  hope  you  are  going  to  be 
happy!  ...  If  you  are  not,  I  shall  blame 
myself  because  you  met  her  here!  " 

Carleton  laughed  uneasily.  "  You  mustn't  take 
that  on  your  conscience !  That  was  Fate." 

'Yes,  Fate!  It  seems  so  to  you,  of  course. 
She  is  the  only  person  out  of  all  the  world,  I  sup- 
pose. .  .  .  Ah,  well,  I  shall  croak  like  the 
raven,  if  I'm  not  careful.  I  can't  believe  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  happiness  in  the  world.  But  you 
are  full  of  faith,  I  daresay — or  at  least  you  ought 
to  be." 

"  I  believe  in  pleasure,  in  joy,  and  interest.  The 
first  two  are  occasional,  the  last  is  constant,  with 
me,  at  least.  I  get  as  much  out  of  life  as  one 
ought  to  expect." 

"  Oh,  if  you  pitch  your  expectations  low!  But 
why  not  expect  everything,  as  a  child  does?  I 
have  done  so  all  my  life." 

217 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  expect  everything  that  I'm  capable  of." 

"  Yes,  but  how  do  you  know  what  you  are 
capable  of?  I  feel  in  myself  even  yet  any  amount 
of  unmapped  country.  Even  now  I  can't  help 
feeling  that  things  may  happen,  that — somehow, 
sometime — I  may  come  into  the  Land  of  Heart's 
Desire." 

She  looked  out  into  the  falling  veil  of  the  foun- 
tain dreamily. 

"  It  is  not  of  this  earth,"  Carleton  said  gently. 
"  And  for  us  who  enjoy  the  earth  so  keenly,  least 
of  all.  Sometimes  I  think  that  for  the  religious 
temperament  there  is  happiness.  St.  Francis, 
perhaps,  was  happy.  Those  who  reach  the  last 
refuge  seem  to  leave  unhappiness  behind!  But 
to  a  pagan  like  myself  the  charm  of  temporal 
things  is  all  that  seems  real,  and  that  is  never 
separated  from  the  feeling  of  their  evanescence, 
from  the  feeling  of  the  essential  cruelty  of  life. 
To  be  happy,  one  must  be  able  to  soar  above 
Death,  to  conquer  it.  But  Death  conquers  me, 
and  I  see  all  that  gives  me  pleasure,  that  I  love, 
swallowed  up  in  a  black  gulf " 

Elizabeth  shuddered. 

218 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Don't  say  it !  I  try  to  believe  that  it  isn't  so. 
There  must  be  some  way  given  us  to  atone — for 
unkindness,  coldness — otherwise  life  is  too  cruel! 
You  are  young,  Barry,  or  you  couldn't  be  so  calm 
about  it — wait  till  you  have  suffered!  Perhaps 
you  will  turn  religious.  It  seems  to  me  it  is  the 
sensuous  temperament  that  is  religious.  St.  Fran- 
cis and  St.  Augustine  were  both  rakes  in  their 
youth!" 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  in  youth  that  the  turn  takes  place 
— it's  only  youth  that's  capable  of  it,  of  the 
passion  of  faith." 

"  Ah,  youth,  youth !  All  the  world  belongs  to 
it — and  even  the  next  world,  according  to  you !  " 

Carleton  gazed  with  half-closed  eyes  at  the 
swaying  veil  of  water,  at  the  green  foliage  against 
the  purpling  sky,  and  the  tops  of  the  black 
cypresses  boldly  jutting  into  the  blue  gulf  of  air. 

"  Ah,  but  the  fulness  of  this  earth  belongs  to 
us!  What  beauty,  what  sweetness!  Here  upon 
this  bank  and  shoal  of  time  I'll  jump  the  life  to 
come !  Only  let  me  come  back  again  to  the  earth 
— as  one  of  those  fat,  green  lizards  in  the  wall,  or 
one  of  those  gorgeous  fish  in  the  fountain — I 

219 


The  Eternal  Spring 

should  be  content.  A  myriad  of  little  lives  like 
that  would  please  me.  And  the  lizards  are  know- 
ing fellows,  too !  Do  you  remember  Heine  says 
one  of  them  looked  just  like  a  certain  learned 
professor  at  Gottingen?  " 

"  Ah,  you  used  to  read  Heine  to  me!  Here  by 
the  fountain.  How  he  amused  us,  poor  Hein- 
rich! 

"  Aus  meinem  tiefen  Schmerzen 
Mack'  Ich  die  kleine  Lieder " 

"  And  you  used  to  sing  to  me,"  said  Carleton. 
"  Won't  you  sing  now?  " 

"  I  never  sing  any  more,"  said  Elizabeth. 

But  then,  leaning  a  little  away  from  him,  and 
watching  the  fountain,  she  sang  under  her  breath 
one  of  the  Lieder,  ending: 

"  Wenn  du  sagst,  Ich  Hebe  dick, 
So  muss"  Ich  laeinen  bitterlich!" 

Then  she  looked  at  Carleton  with  bright,  tragic 
eyes. 

"  But  you  never  did  say  it!  Barry,  you  were  so 
wise!  But  I  said  it,  do  you  remember?  One  day 
here  in  the  garden?  " 

220 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  remember.  But  you  didn't  say  it  for  me, 
myself." 

"  Who  knows?  But  it  doesn't  matter  now.  And 
you  will  have  the  reward  of  your  wisdom.  Oh, 
forgive  me!"  she  cried.  "Help  me  not  to  be 
bitter !  Ah,  but  you  can't  help  me !  I  am  old  and 
bitter  at  heart.  But  if  only  I  could  keep  from 
being  bitter  to  you.  If  only  you  would  love  me  a 
little,  just  a  very  little,  I  shouldn't " 

In  tears  she  sank  on  his  shoulder.  Barry  kissed 
her  loyally.  It  was  her  real  farewell  to  him.  And 
here  by  the  little  fountain,  with  the  cool  wind 
rising  and  stirring  the  leaves  about  them,  and  the 
warm  sky  glowing  magically  toward  sunset,  one 
long  episode  of  his  life  came  to  an  end. 


221 


PART   II 
THE    HILLS 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CLARA  came  along  the  road  in  the  shadow 
of  the  chestnut-forest,  singing  gaily.  She 
had  a  bunch  of  forest-flowers  in  her 
hand — wild  forget-me-nots,  tiny  pinks  and  bache- 
lor-buttons— and  her  hat,  of  the  light  straw  made 
by  the  peasant-women,  was  pinned  to  the  side  of 
her  short  skirt.  Ahead  of  her,  where  the  road 
turned  into  the  little  Piazza.  San  Martino,  were 
two  barefooted,  almond-eyed  children.  They 
stopped  and  stared  at  her  shyly.  The  girl  had  a 
pailful  of  wild  strawberries,  tiny  scarlet  drops  of 
pure  sweetness  and  fragrance;  it  represented  the 
morning's  work  of  the  two  children  in  the  forest. 
Clara  caught  sight  of  it  and  hailed  them,  pausing 
in  her  song. 

"  Buona  sera,  ragazzina  mia,  volete  vendere 
questi  fragoletti?  " 

The  girl  stammered  assent,  looking  up  askance, 
with  half-timid,  half-bold  eyes.  Clara  beckoned 

225 


The  Eternal  Spring 

them  to  follow  her,  and  went  on  into  the  Piazza, 
warbling  lightly: 

"  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I: 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie " 

She  walked  with  an  elastic,  easy  step,  swinging 
along  as  though  she  were  still  treading  the  springy 
turf  of  the  forest-floor  instead  of  the  stone-paved 
roadway.  Her  black  hair  was  blown  back  from 
her  face  by  the  light  breeze.  She  had  a  fresh 
colour,  and  she  smiled  contentedly,  and  tilted  her 
head  from  side  to  side  in  time  to  the  gay  melody. 
The  two  children  followed  warily,  paddling  in  the 
dusty  grass  by  the  roadside,  for  the  cobbles  were 
hot  to  the  foot. 

It  was  mid-day,  and  the  Piazza,  which  was 
little  more  than  a  terrace  near  the  top  of  the  hill, 
was  almost  deserted.  Two  yawning  bathwomen 
sat  before  the  door  of  the  bathing-establishment, 
whose  trim  stucco  front  made  one  side  of  the 
Piazza.  On  the  opposite  side,  where  through  a 
wide  archway  the  road  went  its  winding  way  down 
the  hill,  the  keeper  of  the  wine-shop  sat  before  his 
door,  playing  cards  with  three  companions.  Be- 

226 


The  Eternal  Spring 

tween  was  an  enormous  wall  of  stone,  through  the 
midst  of  which  a  long  flight  of  steps  led  up  to  the 
hotel  on  the  hill-top.  At  the  foot  of  this  wall  was 
a  fountain,  where  a  woman  was  drawing  water  in 
a  copper  jug.  The  fourth  side  was  made  by  a  row 
of  low  stucco  houses,  a  continuous  facade  of  light 
buff-colour,  and  a  low  wall,  lined  with  a  row  of 
great  plane-trees,  from  which  one  looked  down 
sheer  three  hundred  feet  into  the  narrow  valley. 
The  plane-trees  shaded  half  the  Piazza;  but  the 
other  half  was  a  dazzling  glare  of  sunlight  on 
grey  stone,  white  stone  and  stucco. 

Clara  went  to  the  door  of  the  house  nearest  to 
the  row  of  plane-trees  and  opened  it.  The  door 
was  composed  of  two  great  shutters,  and  these,  as 
well  as  the  shutters  of  the  windows,  were  closed 
against  the  sun  and  dust.  Clara  went  in  and  got 
her  purse,  a  frivolous  affair  of  silver  links,  and 
paid  the  children  their  price,  with  ten  centesimi 
over  for  luck,  and  a  piece  of  red  ribbon  for  the 
black-haired  girl.  The  cook,  a  young,  light-haired 
woman,  brought  a  dish  for  the  strawberries,  and 
Clara  sent  the  smiling  children  away  with  a  prom- 
ise to  buy  all  the  strawberries  and  mushrooms  they 

227 


The  Eternal  Spring 

could  bring,  tntti  giorni.  Then  she  went  into  the 
house,  and  the  cook,  Ida,  closed  the  shutters  of  the 
door,  and  informed  her  that  the  Signora  was  tak- 
ing her  collazione  in  the  sala  di  pranzo. 

Within  its  thick  walls  the  house  was  cool  as  a 
well.  It  was  deep  and  narrow  like  one,  too;  for 
it  was  built  into  the  steep  side  of  the  hill,  and  from 
one  story  and  a  half  at  the  front,  facing  the 
Piazza,  it  shot  down  four  stories  at  the  back.  It 
was  all  stone,  and  concrete,  and  plaster,  in  dull, 
cool  greys  and  greens;  and  the  stairway  that  led 
down  into  dimness  had  the  gleam  of  water  at  the 
bottom,  where  a  spring  filled  a  small  reservoir 
sunk  in  the  floor. 

The  double  doors  of  the  main  living-room  were 
open  on  the  entrance-hall;  and  Clara  glanced  in 
for  a  moment  on  a  scene  of  confusion.  A  grand- 
piano  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  its  lid 
heaped  with  half-emptied  trunk-trays.  Trunks 
were  ranged  about  the  walls.  Drifts  of  tissue- 
paper  littered  the  floor.  The  chairs  were  buried 
under  mounds  of  wearing-apparel,  and  the  tables 
covered  with  hats,  slippers,  lacquered  boxes, 
and  other  trifles  of  elegance.  Fidelio,  the  poodle, 

228 


The  Eternal  Spring 

lay  on  his  purple  cushion  under  the  piano  and 
growled  discontentedly  as  he  perceived  Clara. 
She  threw  up  her  hands  and  turned  to  go  down- 
stairs. 

In  the  dining-room,  one  flight  down,  Augusta 
Langham  sat  at  table,  with  her  new  maid  wait- 
ing upon  her.  In  this  room,  also,  there  were 
trunks,  half-unpacked.  From  it  chambers  opened 
on  either  side,  and  at  the  back  a  wide  door  gave 
on  a  balcony  which  overhung  the  deep  ravine  and 
faced  the  high  green  hills.  Mrs.  Langham  sat 
with  her  back  to  the  view.  She  wore  a  purple 
morning-gown ;  her  hair  was  carefully  waved  and 
dressed.  She  was  trying  to  eat  an  omelette,  but 
when  Clara  came  in  she  gave  up  the  attempt  and 
sent  the  maid,  an  Englishwoman  of  severe  appear- 
ance, for  fresh  coffee. 

"  That's  good — I'm  hungry,"  said  Clara,  sit- 
ting down.  "  I've  had  a  jolly  walk  in  the  woods. 
And  I've  got  some  wild  strawberries  for  you.  Did 
the  cream  come  ?  The  woman  promised  it  for  this 
morning." 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Mrs.  Langham  dejectedly. 

"  I  had  trouble  enough  to  get  it  I  .  ,  . 
229 


The  Eternal  Spring 

We  don't  seem  to  have  got  very  far  toward  set- 
tling, do  we?  " 

Mrs.  Langham  sighed  deeply,  and  threw  her- 
self back  in  her  chair. 

"  How  can  we?  There  is  no  place  to  put  any- 
thing, no  one  to  do  any  work!  Clara,  how  could 
you  think  we  could  get  on  in  this  place?  " 

"  But  I  think  we  can  get  on  very  well.  I 
like  it.  .  .  .  What  is  there  for  break- 
fast?" 

"  Bread — butter — figs — an  uneatable  omelette. 
How  you  could  conceive  of  taking  one  of  these 
peasants  for  a  cook !  " 

"  But,  Mama,  we  had  a  good  dinner  last 
night — you  know  we  had!  I  daresay  she  has 
something  else  down  there.  How  nice  those  little 
pats  of  butter  look  on  the  vine-leaves !  " 

Clara  began  eating,  with  the  spirits  born  of 
fresh  air  and  exercise.  The  English  maid  came  in 
with  a  dish  of  chicken,  rice,  and  tomatoes,  and  the 
coffee.  Then  she  put  the  strawberries  on  the  table 
and  Clara  fell  upon  them  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  how  delicious !  Just  smell  them !  Now, 
I  think  this  is  an  awfully  good  meal  1  " 

230 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Field,  you  can  go  up  now  and  unpack,"  said 
Mrs.  Langham  languidly. 

The  Englishwoman  gave  an  audible  sniff  as 
she  went  out  and  closed  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham  nodded  tragically  across  the  table. 

"  That  woman  will  be  absolutely  useless,"  she 
said.  "  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  feel  like  apolo- 
gising to  her  for  things,  nasty  as  she  is.  She's 
used,  you  see,  to  a  big  establishment." 

"Well,  why  did  you  take  her,  then,  Mama? 
I  think  myself  she's  useless.  You  should  have  got 
somebody  with  less  pretensions." 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  well,  but  it  doesn't  seem 
to  occur  to  you,  Clara,  that  a  person  who  wasn't 
used  to  doing  things  well  would  be  of  no  use  to 
me.  I  couldn't  possibly  get  on,  for  instance,  with 
anyone  like  Lucie.  This  woman  can  dress  my 
hair  and  she  understands  clothes,  and  she's  a  good 
masseuse — but  when  it  comes  to  waiting  on  table 
and  sweeping,  I  simply  don't  think  she'll  do  it." 

"  Well,  Mama,  I  don't  think  we  need  more  than 
three  women  in  this  little  house  to  look  after  us. 
Lucie  is  perfectly  willing  to  do  her  share.  And 
if  Field  can't  bring  in  your  meals  and  sweep  out 

231 


The  Eternal  Spring 

your  room,  I  think  you'd  better  get  somebody 
else." 

"  Get  somebody  else !  Up  in  this  hole !  How, 
pray,  am  I  to  get  anyone  else?  Shall  I  take  a 
peasant  out  of  the  fields  to  dress  me?  You  talk 
like  a  fool,  Clara." 

Clara  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  poured  out 
the  coffee.  The  barking  of  Fidelio  was  sharply 
audible  above. 

"Yes,  that's  another  thing!  Fidelio  can't 
bear  her.  And,  do  you  know,  Clara,  there  is  no 
place  here  where  he  can  be  dry-cleaned !  " 

Clara  burst  out  laughing.  "  Then  he  must 
have  a  bath !  "  she  cried  heartlessly.  "  Now, 
Mama,  you've  got  house-nerves.  You  come  out 
into  the  woods,  or  take  a  carriage  and  we'll  drive, 
about  four,  when  it's  cooler.  It  is  a  most  roman- 
tic, charming  place !  " 

"  I  cannot  see  it,  Clara.  And  anyhow  what's 
the  use  of  romance  when  you're  uncomfortable? 
I  can't  see  how  I'm  to  get  on  here.  There  is  no 
place  to  put  my  clothes — no  press,  no  closets,  noth- 
ing but  a  dressing-room  with  hooks  around!  I 
could  not  sleep  last  night — fancy  a  wool  mattress 
and  a  great  sack  of  corn  husks  under  it.  Then 

232 


The  Eternal  Spring 

if  you  take  the  only  drawing-room  for  your  piano, 
and  I  have  to  sit  and  listen  to  those  scales  and 
things,  I  shall  go  mad.  Really,  I  shall." 

Clara  stopped  eating,  and  contemplated  her 
mother's  down-cast  head  for  some  moments. 

"  Mama,  were  you  never  uncomfortable  before 
— I  mean,  what  you  call  uncomfortable,  like 
this?  "  she  enquired  finally. 

"  No,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Langham,  pathetically. 
"  I  have  always  hated  the  country,  and  bare  rough 
ways  of  living,  and  I've  always  gone  to  good  hotels 
or  lodgings,  when  I  hadn't  my  own  house. 
Really  and  truly,  I  never  in  my  life  had  so  com- 
fortless a  place  as  this." 

Clara  meditated. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  hard  on  you,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "  But  then,  you  see,  we  can't  help  it.  We 
really  haven't  got  the  money  to  live  well  just 
now." 

Mrs.  Langham  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  But  this  is  absurd  of  you,  Clara !  As  if  we 
hadn't  been  hard  up  before !  The  bills  are  always 
paid  somehow  in  the  end,  and  those  people  are 
quite  used  to  waiting  for  their  money." 

"  But  some  of  them  aren't  paid  yet,"  said  Clara 

233 


The  Eternal  Spring 

in  a  low  tone.  "  And  what  I  can't  stand  is  people 
dunning  us.  ...  If  we  live  here  this  sum- 
mer you  can  catch  up,  and  be  comfortable  again 
next  winter " 

"  Well,  I  am  willing  to  live  here,  though  I 
don't  believe  I  shall  survive  it.  But  not  in  this 
house,  Clara !  We  might  at  least  have  a  house 
with  a  garden  and  a  sitting-room  for  me,  and  some 
good  beds.  I'm  sure  that  isn't  much  to  ask.  And 
this  place  is  really  as  damp  as  a  tomb." 

"  It  won't  be  damp  when  we  get  it  sunned  out 
once,  at  least  these  upper  rooms  won't  be.  And, 
Mama,  it  is  as  good  as  we  can  afford.  You  know 
I  calculated  very  carefully,  and  my  money  will 
just  cover  expenses  as  it  is." 

'  You  are  a  good  little  bourgeoise,  Clara,  but 
you  have  no  imagination.  How  am  I  to  get 
through  the  summer  with  no  amusement,  nothing? 
It's  all  very  well  for  you,  you  have  your  everlasting 
music.  But  when  I'm  bored  I'm  afraid  I  am  not 
a  very  cheerful  companion — you  may  not  be  able 
to  stand  me." 

'  Well,  I  must  manage  to,  somehow,  I  suppose," 
said  Clara  absently. 

234 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  gazed  out  over  her  mother's  head  at  the 
skyline  of  the  wild  hills,  tufted  thick  with  chest- 
nut-trees, showing  no  sign  of  human  domination 
except  here  and  there  the  powdery  smoke  of  a 
row  of  olives,  or  a  winding  hedge-row,  the  way 
to  some  hidden  little  town.  The  deep  blue  sky 
was  soaked  with  warmth.  The  noise  of  the 
stream  running  in  the  ravine  came  up  fresh  and 
loud  in  its  spring  fulness.  The  peace  and  sweet- 
ness of  this  outlook  were  reflected  in  the  girl's 
face;  she  seemed  still  in  a  kind  of  trance  of  en- 
joyment. Mrs.  Langham  gazed  at  her  moodily, 
continued  her  meal  in  silence  for  some  time,  then 
resumed  her  theme. 

"  You  know,  Clarchen,  it  really  would  have  been 
so  much  more  sensible  for  you  to  be  with  the  Rasol- 
lis  this  summer.  The  Contessa  would  gladly  have 
had  you.  And  I  could  have  gone  with  some  of 
my  friends " 

"  But,  Mama,"  said  Clara  rather  impatiently, 
"  you  know  quite  well  that  would  not  do.  In  the 
first  place  I  could  not  wait  about  for  the  Rasollis, 
and  I  could  not  be  at  the  hotel — I  must  have  some 
place  to  work.  And  as  for  your  going — why,  you 

235 


The  Eternal  Spring 

could  not  go  travelling  about  without  money,  and 
you  have  not  got  any.  You  seem  to  forget  that." 

"  I  am  not  apt  to  forget  it,  with  you  to  din  it 
into  my  head  every  day,"  said  Mrs.  Langham 
sulkily. 

She  spread  her  hands  out  before  her  and  looked 
at  her  rings — rings  of  diamonds,  square  emeralds 
and  rubies  and  two  great  sullen  sapphires. 

"  What  it  amounts  to,"  she  said  after  a  moment, 
"  is  that  you  have  arranged  the  summer  entirely 
for  your  own  convenience.  This  wretched  house 
is  merely  a  workshop  for  you.  And  I  am  simply 
a  pendant,  a  kind  of  chaperone !  " 

Clara  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Show  me 
some  way  that  we  can  do  better  on  less  than  a 
thousand  francs  a  month,"  she  said.  Then  having 
finished  her  coffee,  she  looked  enquiringly  at  her 
mother  and  rose.  "  I  must  go  and  see  if  I  can  get 
that  room  cleared  out.  Lucie  will  help.  I  must 
get  to  work  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Langham  got  up  and  folded  her  morning- 
gown  majestically  about  her. 

"  Will  you  please  tell  somebody  to  order  a 
carriage  for  half-past  three !  I  shall  die  if  I 

236 


The  Eternal  Spring 

don't  get  out  of  this  tomb,"  she  announced,  and 
retired  upstairs  to  her  bedroom  and  a  French 
novel. 

Clara  followed  more  slowly,  and,  avoiding  the 
living-room,  where  she  heard  her  mother  sharply 
giving  instructions  about  Fidelio's  meal,  she  went 
out  on  the  balcony  that  ran  along  the  entire  back 
of  the  house.  There  were  two  similar  balconies 
below,  on  the  two  lower  stories.  Below  the  foun- 
dations of  the  house  was  a  narrow  terrace  where 
there  had  once  been  a  garden.  The  cracked  dry 
basin  of  the  fountain  was  still  there,  and  the  box- 
hedges,  and  a  few  flowering  shrubs;  but  the  grass 
grew  long  and  thick  about  them  all.  Beyond  this 
the  hill  plunged  steeply  down  to  the  water-course 
fringed  with  trees;  and  almost  on  the  other  side 
of  these  trees  the  higher  hills  shot  steeply  up. 
There  was  room  for  but  a  foot-path  and  a  long 
narrow  field  of  grain,  a  garden-patch,  a  tiny  grey 
house — the  holding  of  some  peasant-farmer.  Two 
or  three  other  little  farms  nestled  in  nooks  of  the 
hill-sides,  in  clearings  of  the  great  chestnut-forest 
that  lay  like  a  dense  green  mantle  over  all  these 
slopes.  But  the  whole  effect  was  solitary,  wild, 

237 


The  Eternal  Spring 

fresh.  All  the  civilisation  of  the  place  lay  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Piazza.  Here  was  nothing 
more  modern  than  the  campanile  of  the  grey 
village  on  the  opposite  hill  peak:  nothing  more 
sophisticated  than  the  blurred  tablet  let  into  the 
wall  of  the  house,  which  stated  that  in  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy  this  edifice  had  been  built  by 
Luigi  Momoli,  for  his  soul's  good. 

Clara  sat  down  in  a  garden-chair,  one  of  their 
importations,  and  looked  at  the  tablet,  and  at  the 
hills  and  the  sky.  Meditatively  she  admitted  the 
bareness  of  the  place,  the  primitive  way  of  living 
which  their  little  casa  implied.  For  herself  she 
liked  it  deeply.  She  liked  simplicity  in  living, 
bare  floors,  bare  walls,  few  servants,  meals  of  two 
courses;  quiet,  a  rural  solitude  to  wander  in,  space 
for  brooding  and  for  dreams.  She  hated  hotels, 
upholstery,  parade,  noise,  glitter  and  restlessness. 
She  had  never,  so  far  in  her  life,  been  able  to  live 
as  she  liked,  even  as  nearly  as  this.  A  long  pro- 
gression from  one  capital  or  fashionable  watering- 
place  to  another,  a  perpetual  change  of  base,  a 
constant  effort  to  live  like  richer  people — these, 
by  no  will  of  her  own,  had  been  the  outward  con- 

238 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ditions  of  her  life.  Her  real  life,  almost  all  her 
enjoyment,  had  been  entirely  in  herself.  Her  con- 
stant effort  had  been  to  withdraw  herself  from 
her  material  surroundings  and  to  concentrate  on 
her  own  individual  interests.  It  was  only  by  an 
intense  concentration  that  she  had  accomplished 
what  she  had;  only  by  a  definite  imposition  of  her 
own  will  that  she  had  managed  to  get  any  possible 
conditions  for  her  work.  She  had  to  deal  with  a 
stronger  egotism  than  her  own,  but  a  weaker  will; 
a  will,  in  fact  which  crumpled  at  sight  of  resistance 
and  became  mere  impotent  discontent. 

She  wondered  now,  with  sudden  misgivings,  if 
this  present  experiment  of  hers  were  to  end  in  fail- 
ure. If  so  what  would  be  the  result?  She  frowned, 
and  her  face  took  on  a  look  of  determination. 
Her  mother  must  be  made  to  stand  it;  there  was 
nothing  else  to  be  done.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  no  more  debts  should  be  incurred,  by 
herself  at  least.  Therefore  they  must  live  in 
a  place  that  offered  no  temptations  to  extrava- 
gance. And  she  had  been  able  now  to  force  this 
because  she  held  the  purse-strings,  her  own  income 
being  paid  over  directly  to  herself. 

239 


The  Eternal  Spring 

But  she  foresaw  struggles;  a  good  deal  of  dis- 
comfort for  her  mother  and  therefore  for  herself. 
That  was  in  fact  the  best  she  could  hope  for,  in 
the  present  situation.  If  they  could  get  through 
the  summer  without  an  absolute  crash,  Clara  felt 
that  she  might  think  herself  fortunate. 


240 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THEY  drove  out  at  four;  for  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham,  absorbed  in  her  novel,  was  late  in 
dressing.  The  vehicle,  an  open  cab 
with  one  horse,  awaited  them  in  the  Piazza,  and 
a  little  group  of  idle  spectators  had  gathered  there 
also  to  see  what  might  be  seen.  The  season  had 
hardly  begun  yet  for  the  Baths ;  these  two  forestiere 
were  almost  the  first,  and  moreover  they  were  un- 
usually spectacular.  With  native  susceptibility  to 
beauty  the  country-people  stared  frankly  at  Mrs. 
Langham  and  her  daughter,  as  the  ladies  got  into 
their  cab  and  were  driven  slowly  through  the  arch. 

"  What  a  funny  little  place,"  said  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham  patronisingly.  "  One  would  think  they'd 
never  seen  a  foreigner.  I  can't  say  I  like  being 
down  so  near  them  as  this.  The  hotel  now — 
When  do  you  say  the  Rasollis  come?  " 

"  Not  till  the  middle  of  July,"  Clara  answered. 

"  Well,  I  hope  those  English  friends  of  Eliza- 
241 


The  Eternal  Spring 

beth's  will  call  on  me.  If  they  have  a  villa 
there  will  probably  be  something  to  be  got  out  of 
them.  Tell  the  man  to  drive  through  the  town, 
will  you  ?  Let  us  see  all  there  is  to  be  seen." 

With  the  brakes  down  the  carriage  proceeded 
on  the  winding  road,  which,  though  it  tacked  back 
and  forth  half  a  dozen  times  during  the  descent  of 
the  hill,  was  still  a  steep  grade.  After  a  moment's 
endurance  of  the  screeching  of  the  wheels  Clara 
clapped  both  hands  over  her  ears  and  cried,  "  I 
can't  stand  that  noise — I'll  meet  you  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill." 

She  jumped  out  of  the  carriage  without  waiting 
for  it  to  stop,  and  took  the  footpath,  which  made 
short-cuts  connecting  the  loops  of  the  road.  She 
had  not  dressed  for  parade.  Her  white  dress  was 
short  and  plain,  she  wore  a  wide-brimmed  flapping 
hat;  her  whole  appearance  was  of  freshness,  sim- 
plicity and  ease.  She  moved  with  more  vigour  in 
this  clearer  air.  There  was  something  almost 
athletic  about  her  long  light  stride  as  she  half-ran 
down  the  path.  She  wore  heelless  white  shoes, 
and  her  feet  touched  the  earth  firmly  and  with  an 
elastic  spring  that  sent  the  soft  colour  again  into 

242 


The  Eternal  Spring 

her  face.  She  glanced  from  side  to  side  as  she 
went,  with  pleasure  in  the  charm  of  the  place.  This 
hill-side  had  not  the  remote  and  lonely  look  of  the 
view  from  her  balcony ;  it  was  civilised,  cultivated. 
It  had  hedges  of  box,  clumps  of  wonderful  cy- 
presses, a  villa-gate  or  two  overgrown  with 
flowers,  and  farther  down  small  houses  occupied 
by  the  townspeople.  From  it  one  looked  down 
into  the  larger  valley  where  the  green  river  ran 
and  the  houses  of  the  town  clustered  about  the 
bridge.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  road  passed 
between  two  rows  of  buildings  into  the  village 
square.  Here  Clara  got  into  the  carriage  again. 

The  square  was  surrounded  by  low  shops,  ex- 
cept one  side,  where  the  river  ran  beneath  a  wall 
shaded  by  plane-trees.  Next  to  this  wall  was  the 
cafe,  before  which  were  set  out  a  number  of  little 
tables.  The  place  was  pleasantly  full  of  people, 
sitting  and  sipping  their  vermouth  and  water, 
lounging  round  the  shop-fronts,  leaning  on  the 
wall,  enjoying  the  cool  of  the  day. 

"  I'd  like  to  stop  and  have  an  ice  there,"  said 
Clara  suddenly. 

"  Mercy,  no,  child,  not  there,  among  all  those 

243 


The  Eternal  Spring 

people !     What  ideas  you  have  I     We'll  get  some 
tea  at  the  hotel." 

The  cab  rolled  on  through  the  square,  attracting 
some  little  attention  in  its  passage,  and  out  by  the 
single  street  of  the  village,  which  prolonged  itself 
into  the  country  road;  this  again  merging  into  the 
single  street  of  the  farther  and  larger  town.  The 
road  was  a  little  dusty  and  the  sun  struck  on  it  now 
and  then.  Mrs.  Langham  shifted  her  parasol. 

'  You  are  getting  terribly  freckled,  Clara,"  she 
observed.  "  Your  nose  and  the  top  of  your  cheeks 
are  quite  covered.  Why  won't  you  wear  a  veil, 
or  at  least  not  go  about  bare-headed  like  a 
contadina?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  freckles,  Mama,"  Clara  said. 
"  And  anyhow  there  is  no  one  here  to  see  me." 

"  Well,  you  never  know  when  there  may  be." 

Clara  did  not  answer,  but  sat  tranquilly  in  her 
corner  of  the  seat  and  watched  the  gentle  pano- 
rama of  the  roadside — wall,  terrace,  embowered 
villa,  glimpses  of  the  branching  river.  Her  look 
of  brooding  enjoyment  was  still  there;  she  seemed 
to  have  an  inward  source  of  pleasure  which  now 
and  then  expressed  itself  in  an  abstracted  smile. 

244 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"What  are  you  smiling  at?"  finally  enquired 
Mrs.  Langham  after  an  interval  of  silence.  "  I 
think  if  you  have  any  cheerful  thoughts  you  might 
share  them !  " 

"  Not  thoughts  exactly,"  said  Clara.  "  I 
wasn't  thinking  .  .  .  It's  so  delicious — the 
air  and  all  this  greenness,  and  the  quiet.  I  don't 
know  why  it  gives  me  so  much  pleasure,  but  it 
does." 

"  Nonsense.  I  don't  believe  you  were  smiling 
at  that.  It  was  something  more  definite.  You 
are  so  secretive,  Clara !  I  never  know  what  you 
are  thinking.  I  hardly  know  what  you  are  doing 
any  more.  You  might  talk  more  frankly  to  me — 
about  Morelli,  for  instance.  I'm  glad  you  did 
break  off  with  him,  for  I  think  you  can  do  better, 
but  I  don't  yet  understand  just  why  you  did." 

Clara  ceased  to  smile. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  any  more  about  it,"  she  said 
quickly.  "  It  was  just  impossible,  that's  all.  I 
don't  want  to  talk  about  it,  Mama." 

"  No,  I  know  you  don't  want  to  talk  about  any 
of  your  own  affairs — to  me,  at  least.  You  are 
getting  more  and  more  to  be  absolutely  silent, 

245 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Clara.  It's  a  frightful  habit.  You  ought  to 
realise  it,  and  try  to  break  yourself  of  it — if  you 
expect  to  live  with  other  people.  I  don't  think 
you  know  what  an  effect  it  has  on  me,  for  instance. 
You  go  about  wrapped  up  in  yourself  like  a 
mummy.  I  am  used  to  people  who  make  them- 
selves a  little  more  agreeable.  And  if  you  and  I 
are  to  be  shut  up  together  for  months,  you  must 
try  to  do  so." 

Clara  was  quite  clouded  now. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 
"  But  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  do  it.  I  hope 
to  do  a  lot  of  work  this  summer;  and  then  I  don't 
seem  to  have  much  energy  left  to  talk.  I'd  rather 
just  roam  about  in  the  woods  and  be  quiet." 

"  Exactly.  But  I  hope  you  see  that's  a  per- 
fectly selfish  way  of  living — and  moreover  it's  bad 
for  you  too.  What's  the  use  of  all  this  '  work  '  ? 
You  are  not  strong  enough  to  carry  it  out  and  make 
a  real  success  of  it.  You  would  do  much  better  to 
marry,  while  you  are  young  and  pretty." 

There  was  another  pause,  as  after  each  of  these 
speeches  of  Mrs.  Langham;  calm,  incisive,  clear, 
as  they  were.  Then  Clara  asked: 

246 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But  what  would  you  do,  Mama,  if  I  should?  " 

Mrs.  Langham  laughed  slightly. 

"  It  would  make  no  great  difference  to  me,  child. 
I  can't  tell  you  just  what  I  would  do,  but  on  the 
whole  I  should  be  quite  as  comfortable.  You  and 
I  never  were  especially  congenial,  you  know.  And 
since  you  have  grown  up  you  have  shut  yourself 
off  more  and  more  from  me.  You  don't  like  my 
friends  and  I  don't  like  yours.  Living  together 
is  just  a  wretched  kind  of  compromise,  and  makes 
neither  of  us  happy.  Of  course  I  should  want  to 
see  you  often,  if  you  were  married.  We  should 
get  on  very  well,  I'm  sure,  if  we  weren't  tied  to  one 
another." 

Clara  seemed  to  meditate  on  this;  nerv- 
ously clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands  in  her 
lap. 

"  But  I  can't  see  how  you  could  live  all  alone," 
she  said  finally.  "  You  seem  so  bored  most  of 
the  time.  And  yet  when  you  have  the  kind  of 
people  you  like,  you  quarrel  with  them,  you  know 
you  do.  There  were  the  Mayhews  in  London, 
and  Madame  Marum " 

Mrs.  Langham  moved  impatiently. 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Never  mind  them!  There  are  plenty  of 
others.  I  don't  expect  to  spend  my  lifetime  with 
any  of  them,  anyhow.  And  if  I  often  seem  bored, 
it's  just  because  I'm  tied  down  so  much.  You 
don't  realise  it,  but  I  have  made  a  great  many 
sacrifices  for  you,  Clara." 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  that.  Clara 
looked  vaguely  out  of  her  side  of  the  carriage,  at 
the  low  scattered  modern  buildings  of  the  town 
through  which  they  were  now  passing — the  library, 
the  English  church,  the  Casino,  the  little  shops — 
a  town  made  for  visitors.  They  reached  the  hotel, 
and  alighted  for  tea.  They  had  the  garden  to 
themselves — a  garden  with  a  tennis-court  and  a 
perfectly  spick-and-span  look — and  while  they 
were  waiting  Mrs.  Langham  walked  about  in- 
specting the  place. 

"  We  should  have  done  infinitely  better  to  come 
down  here,"  she  said  with  decision  as  she  came  back 
and  sat  down.  "  This  at  least  is  partly  civilised." 

Clara  looked  up  absently. 

"  Have  you  really  made  many  sacrifices  for 
me?  "  she  asked. 

"Are  you  still  thinking  about  that?  .  .  . 
248 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Why,  yes  I  have,  Clara.  Take  this  present  ar- 
rangement of  ours,  for  instance.  You  know  I  pro- 
tested against  it  all  along." 

'  Yes,  but  something  like  this  was  necessary 
just  now.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  we  have  gen- 
erally gone  to  the  places  you  wanted " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  We  have  always  had 
to  think  of  your  music,  and  go  to  this  place  and 
that  for  you  to  study.  London,  for  instance, — 
you  know  I  hate  London.  And  Vienna — we  lived 
there  two  years.  I'm  not  complaining  about  that 
— of  course  it  was  my  business  to  look  after  you. 
But  I'm  only  saying  that  I  don't  want  to  go  on 
doing  it  perpetually." 

"  And  I  thought  I  was  looking  after  you !  " 
cried  Clara.  '  You  know  I  did,  too — I  always 
did  the  housekeeping  and  saw  to  the  bills,  and  ar- 
ranged about  travelling  and  all  that!  You  are 
quite  helpless,  Mama !  I  don't  believe  you  could 
get  on  alone — you  don't  know  what  it  would 
be!" 

Mrs.  Langham  shook  her  head  wearily. 

"  I  know  quite  well.  I  did  it  all  when  you  were 
little.  .  .  .  Don't  talk  about  it  any  more.  I 

249 


The  Eternal  Spring 

only  wanted  to  get  out  of  your  head  the  idea  that 
I  can't  exist  without  you.  By  all  means  you  should 
marry,  Clara,  if  you  can  ever  make  up  your  mind 
to  it.  And  remember  that  it  gets  more  difficult 
to  make  up  your  mind  each  year." 

The  tea  came  at  this  point — very  English  tea 
and  muffins.  When  the  waiter  had  gone  and  Clara 
had  poured  the  tea  she  said  suddenly: 

"  Mr.  Carleton  will  come  up  here  soon." 

u  Will  he?     What  has  he  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  A  great  deal — perhaps.  I  do  think  I  might 
marry  him." 

"  You  might  if  you  wished  to,  I  suppose.  But 
I  did  not  know  you  had  thought  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I  think  perhaps  I  should  like 
to  marry  him." 

"  Do  you  really?  "  Mrs.  Langham  drank  her 
tea  slowly  and  pushed  the  cup  over  to  be  refilled. 
'  Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  advise  you,  Clara.  You 
have  made  it  very  clear  for  some  time  past  that 
you  wanted  no  advice  from  me.  But  I'm  glad  you 
have  told  me  this.  It  makes  a  difference,  of 
course,  about  his  coming.  .  -  .  It  is  not  ex- 
actly a  brilliant  match." 

250 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  No,  It  is  not  brilliant.  I  don't  think  I  care 
about  brilliance." 

"  You  have  forgotten  the  sugar.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  care  about,  then,  Clara?  What  do 
you  see  in  this  particular  man,  for  instance?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell  exactly.  But  I 
like  him.  He  understands  things." 

"  Oh,  he's  intelligent  enough.  And  what  is 
more,  he  has  a  good  deal  of  force,  I  think — more 
than  he  seems  to  care  about  showing.  He  might 
do  very  well  for  you,  I  think.  He  does  not  seem 
to  want  to  work,  but  he  can  evidently  when  he 
wants  to.  I  daresay  you  might  be  rich  after  all, 
if  you  wanted  it." 

Clara  said  no  more,  but  drank  her  tea,  looking 
rather  melancholy. 

"  But  don't,"  Mrs.  Langham  went  on  with 
more  energy,  "  let  it  drag  along,  as  you  did  with 
Morelli.  It's  very  hard  on  the  man,  and  it's  hard 
on  you  too,  Clara.  I  believe  his  being  in  London 
with  us  was  one  thing  that  made  you  break  down. 
You  take  things  too  emotionally.  If  you  could 
make  up  your  mind  quickly  it  would  be  far  better. 
.  .  .  About  this  Mr.  Carleton — I  like  him 

251 


The  Eternal  Spring 

too,  though  he  has  not  shown  any  special  interest 
in  having  me  like  him.  You  made  it  too  clear,  I 
suppose,  that  my  influence  didn't  count  much,  one 
way  or  the  other.  But  I  think  he's  the  sort  of 
man  who  doesn't  go  dancing  about  after  women, 
anyhow.  He's  more  like  an  Englishman  than  an 
American.  He  has  more  of  their  quietness.  And 
that's  a  good  thing  for  a  woman.  I  don't  believe 
he'd  spoil  you,  as  most  Americans  do  their  wives — 
only  you're  rather  spoiled  already,  you  know, 
Clara.  All  your  whims,  and  moods  and  ca- 
prices. .  .  ."  Mrs.  Langham  began  to  feed 
Fidelio  with  bits  of  muffin  and  lost  her  theme. 
"Poor  Fiddle!  Poor  disreputable  doggy! 
Couldn't  get  himself  cleaned  decently  in  this  hor- 
rid place!  .  .  .  What  was  I  saying,  Clara?  " 
"  I — I  don't  quite  know,  Mama,"  said  Clara 
apologetically. 

'Well,  what  are  you  dreaming  about?  I  was 
talking  of  you  ...  I  sha'n't  take  your  Mr. 
Carleton  seriously  as  yet,  however.  You  certainly 
do  not  know  your  own  mind  particularly  well. 
Only  try  to  be  a  little  careful,  Clara.  Don't  rush 
along  with  your  eyes  shut.  Don't  roam  about 

252 


The  Eternal  Spring 

with  him  at  night  again.  You  may  despise  con- 
ventions, but  they  are  useful  things.  You  never 
know  when  you  may  need  them.  At  any  rate  you 
ought  to  be  very  sure  of  yourself  before  you  dis- 
regard them." 

Mrs.  Langham  finished  her  maternal  lecture  in 
a  calm  semi-detached  manner,  and  tossed  another 
bit  of  muffin  to  Fidelio.  Clara  gazed  away  from 
her  into  the  depths  of  a  clump  of  laurels;  turning 
her  head  so  that  the  drooping  hat-brim  hid  her 
whole  face,  as  though  she  were  conscious  of  its  ex- 
pression and  the  necessity  for  hiding  it.  It  was 
a  frankly  significant  expression,  one  to  be  easily 
read;  it  meant  passionate  weariness,  bitterness, 
revolt  After  a  moment  the  girl  dropped  her  head 
on  her  arm,  that  rested  on  the  back  of  the  seat.  The 
shielding  brim  left  visible  only  the  knot  of  black 
hair  against  the  white  neck,  and  a  flushed  cheek. 

Mrs.  Langham  looked  at  her  daughter  with 
something  like  the  same  weariness,  but  with  exas- 
peration as  the  most  passionate  element  of  feeling. 
She  went  on  slowly  feeding  the  dog  until  the  muffin 
was  entirely  consumed.  Then  she  said,  drawing 
on  her  pearl-coloured  gloves: 

253 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  may  as  well  go  on." 

Clara  rose  at  once.  She  paid  the  waiter  and 
followed  her  mother  out  to  the  carriage.  Mrs. 
Langham  suddenly  recollected  a  number  of  things 
she  wanted  in  the  town:  some  French  papers, 
which  were  not  obtainable,  some  violet-water  for 
her  bath,  some  tulle.  Then  they  went  to  the  li- 
brary, where  to  her  disgust  she  found  nothing  but 
musty  books,  dating  from  the  middle  of  the  cen- 
tury, when  the  place  was  in  its  prime. 

"  Only  six  o'clock!  "  she  exclaimed  when  all  the 
errands  she  could  think  of  were  done  '  Two 
hours  to  get  through  before  dinner!  We  must 
drive  farther  on." 

Accordingly  they  drove  on  through  the  town, 
across  another  bridge,  along  the  highroad  which 
ran  by  the  river's  edge,  smooth,  broad,  bordered 
by  poplars  whose  leaves  were  turning  and  flashing 
their  white  under-sides  in  the  breeze.  They  passed 
some  workmen,  who  had  just  finished  their  day's 
task  of  breaking  stones  for  the  repair  of  the  road. 
They  passed  a  flock  of  goats  with  tinkling  bells 
driven  by  a  bare-headed,  bare-footed  girl  in  a 
crimson  dress;  then  an  old  mill  on  the  bank,  and  a 

254 


The  Eternal  Spring 

dam  of  rough  stones  over  which  the  water  poured 
in  a  wonderful  emerald-green  fall.  The  river-bed 
was  full  of  stones  and  the  water  bubbled  and 
foamed  against  them.  In  the  chestnut-wood  that 
rose  from  the  roadside,  undulating  over  the  hill- 
slopes,  the  wind  played  musically.  Each  hill  of 
the  numbers  fading  into  blue  distance  had  its  little 
grey-brown  town,  each  town  its  square  campanile, 
from  which  now  the  bells  were  ringing,  chiming* 
to  one  another  across  the  narrow  valleys;  a  sweet 
peaceful  chorus.  The  flavour  of  wood-smoke  in 
the  air  had  a  homely  sweetness  too ;  it  belonged  to 
the  evening  calm,  the  return  of  the  people  to  their 
evening  meal,  from  the  road,  the  fields,  the  mill 
and  factory. 

The  two  women  in  the  carriage  were  silent  for 
a  long  time.  Mrs.  Langham  retired  behind  the 
folds  of  her  veil.  Clara  watched  the  river, 
breathed  the  deep  sweetness  of  the  air,  saw  the 
purple  shadows  gather  over  the  hillsides,  heard  the 
song  of  the  bells,  with  a  pleasure  of  the  senses  that 
was  half  pain.  When  the  pain  got  uppermost  her 
eyes  would  fill  with  tears;  tears  that  she  got  rid 
of  without  giving  any  sign. 

255 


CHAPTER   XV 

ARLETON  came  to  Bagni  leisurely, 
stopping  at  Pisa  and  at  Lucca,  and 
walking  the  sixteen  miles  from  Lucca 
on,  between  ten  o'clock  and  seven  of  a  warm  June 
day.  It  was  uphill  all  the  way,  and  the  roads 
were  dusty;  so  that  in  spite  of  taking  it  slowly, 
long  before  he  came  to  his  journey's  end  he  was 
conscious  of  a  salutary  fatigue.  He  meant  to  get 
back  into  walking  form  again  as  speedily  as  might 
be.  A  month's  physical  indolence  had  satisfied 
him  In  that  way.  It  had  been  like  a  long  calm 
voyage  in  tropical  seas.  But  the  voyage  must 
come  to  an  end,  and  what  he  looked  to  now  re- 
quired some  effort.  Happily  effort  was  no  longer 
a  terror  to  him.  He  could  even  foresee  the  time 
when  he  should  like  it  again  for  its  own  sake. 

He  had  been  in  a  solitary  mood  since  leaving 
La  Fontanella.  A  mood  to  enjoy  particularly  the 
quiet  country  he  was  passing  through,  the  antique 

256 


The  Eternal  Spring 

charm  of  its  cities,  its  rural  freshness,  which  some- 
how suggested  ever  the  ancient  model.  In  Pisa 
he  lingered  some  days.  He  spent  two  long  pen- 
sive afternoons  in  the  sun-lit  cloisters  of  the 
Campo  Santo,  meditating  on  the  old  pavement  of 
grave-stones  and  the  quaint  frescoes;  meditations 
strangely  inspired  by  the  echoing  organ-phrases  of 
"  Urn-Burial,"  and  illumined  by  the  reconciling 
beauty  of  the  sarcophagi  carved  with  gay  creatures 
of  the  sea  and  forest;  and  by  the  grace  of  the 
Greek  urn,  with  its  light  twining  procession  of 
figures,  which  might  almost  have  been  Keats' 
original. 

The  sweet  spirit  of  these  old  memorials  of 
death  sent  him  forth  cheerful  upon  the  road.  There 
in  the  humble  life  of  the  fields  and  wayside  the 
forms  of  things  were  still  cheerful  and  even  gay, 
though  their  antiquity  cast  always  the  shadow  of 
immemorial  time,  even  as  the  shadows  of  the 
cloister  had  lain  on  the  sunny  grass  of  the  Holy 
Field.  Thus  the  gayest  note  of  all,  the  looping  of 
the  grapevines  from  tree  to  tree  all  along  the  road 
and  up  the  slopes,  suggesting  a  perpetual  festival 
of  wine  and  rejoicing,  suggesting  the  fruity  Delia 

257. 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Robbia  garlands — this  note  too  had  the  tone  of  the 
ages,  echoing  from  the  pages  of  Montaigne  and 
who  knew  how  much  earlier?  For  centuries  these 
people  had  been  looping  their  vines  thus,  tilling 
the  same  fields  in  the  same  ways,  living  in  the 
same  groups  of  weathered  houses  whose  inaccessi- 
bility spoke  of  the  age  of  war  and  brigandage, 
being  gathered  themselves  finally  into  some  hum- 
bler Holy  Field  of  the  myriads  that  dotted  the  hills. 
From  beholding  them  and  their  lives  sub  specie 
aeternitatis,  or  at  least  merged  in  the  surrounding 
beauty  of  the  earth,  Carleton  reached  the  point  of 
beholding  himself  and  his  own  life  in  the  same 
fashion.  And  this  was  the  point  he  desired  to 
reach;  to  this  his  mood  had  been  tending,  ever 
since,  restless  and  disturbed,  he  had  left  La  Fon- 
tanella. 

A  certain  calm  and  possession  of  himself  had 
always  been  a  necessity  of  being  to  him.  He 
could  not  bear  to  be  thrown  off  his  balance  for 
long  at  a  time;  nor  to  have  confusion  and  uncer- 
tainty within,  so  that  his  feeling  must  be  narrowly 
personal.  He  was  single-hearted.  One  emotion, 
with  the  depth  of  his  natural  intensity  and  con- 

258 


The  Eternal  Spring 

centration,  could  suffice  for  him;  and,  constantly 
fulfilled  and  satisfied,  leave  him  philosophically 
free.  But  it  must  be  deep  and  deeply  fulfilled! 
It  was  the  impossibility  of  this  with  Elizabeth 
that  had  made  their  break  inevitable.  It  was  the 
possibility  which  he  instinctively  felt  in  Clara  that 
had  drawn  him  to  her. 

Thinking  of  her  was  a  joy,  but  a  troubled  joy. 
No  amount  of  looking  at  his  feeling  for  her  sub 
specie  aeternitatis  could  make  it  as  yet  purely 
serene.  But  it  was  striving  toward  purity,  toward 
serenity — as  an  intermediate  stage,  toward  satis- 
faction. The  Greek  poet's  image  of  earthly  love 
recurred  to  him  as  truth:  In  the  beginning  man- 
kind were  created  complete  in  themselves.  But 
the  gods  perceived  that  with  this  completeness 
man  would  be  too  strong,  and  they  clove  him  in 
twain;  and  ever  since  the  two  halves  of  each  in- 
dividual have  gone  about  the  world  seeking  one 
another.  When  by  chance  they  find  one  another 
and  are  united  again  they  become  strong  enough  to 
defy  the  gods! 

The  last  day  of  his  journey  was  one  of  pure 
259 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Iinpplness,  As  he  began  the  long  ascent  from 
Lucca  his  burden  of  half-melancholy  thought 
slipped  from  him  and  the  Delectable  Mountains 
rose  before  him.  Partly  it  was  the  physical  stimulus 
that  lightened  his  spirits,  and  vague  memories  of 
his  long  ramblings  of  earlier  years,  in  Burgundy, 
the  Black  Forest,  the  Swiss  uplands.  But  it  was 
the  thought  that  he  might  see  Clara  that  night — 
or  at  least  in  the  morning — that  made  the  world  a 
pleasant  place.  With  his  mind  full  of  her  he  saw 
more  keenly  the  beauty  of  the  country  that  brought 
him  to  her.  This  freshness  of  the  deep  chestnut- 
forest,  spreading  into  every  wrinkle  of  the  hills, 
clear  of  underbrush,  floored  with  flowery  turf  and 
reck,  pierced  by  innumerable  singing  streams  and 
shadowy  paths;  the  ring  of  great  mountains  climb- 
ing higher  and  higher  toward  the  north;  the  air, 
sweet,  poignant,  lulling,  delicious;  the  sky  blue  as 
the  Madonna's  robe,  with  cloudlets  like  crowds  of 
putti:  all  this  luring  and  youthful  charm  seemed  to 
him  just  the  setting  for  her,  for  the  beautiful  girl 
who  had  promised — wasn't  it  a  promise? — to  love 
him. 

He  reached  the  hotel  on  the  hill-top,  passing 
260 


The  Eternal  Spring 

through  the  Piazza,  about  seven;  tired,  dusty,  but 
still  happy.  A  bath  and  change  of  dress — his 
baggage  had  been  sent  on  ahead — and  a  dinner  at 
the  table  d'hote  in  company  with  some  newly  ar- 
rived and  agreeable  English  people,  mellowed  and 
deepened  his  content,  which  yet  was  not  content, 
for  he  was  by  no  means  minded  to  stay  where  he 
was.  He  took  coffee  with  the  English  family  in 
the  billiard-room,  which  with  the  dining-room 
made  a  sort  of  pavilion  separate  from  the  main 
building  and  more  modern;  and  played  at  billiards 
afterwards,  winning  with  an  ease  to  which  he  was 
used.  All  this  time  he  was  debating  whether  he 
might  go  to  see  Clara  that  evening.  He  knew 
now  where  she  lived.  The  English  lady,  Mrs. 
Mallot,  had  spoken  to  him  about  the  Langhams, 
as  "  those  two  wonderful  Americans  " ;  and  find- 
ing he  knew  them,  had  taken  him  out  on  the  ter- 
race and  pointed  out  the  house,  just  visible  from 
the  top  of  the  long  flight  of  steps.  He  liked  Mrs. 
Mallot  at  sight;  her  quiet  unemphatic  speech  and 
manner,  her  charming  speech,  her  vitality  and 
friendliness.  She  looked  about  forty,  and  told 
him  she  was  a  grandmother.  With  her  were  her 

261 


The  Eternal  Spring 

two  brothers,  ruddy,  sound-looking  men,  who  bore 
their  age  with  pleasant  ease. 

Carleton  finally  strolled  out  and  down  the  steps 
into  the  Piazza.  It  was  the  dark  of  the  moon — 
that  moon  so  wonderful  on  the  heights  above  La 
Fontanella — but  the  sky  was  amazingly  full  of 
stars.  The  houses  round  the  Piazza  seemed  to 
have  gone  to  bed.  The  wine-shop  was  closed. 
Only  a  gleam  showed  here  and  there  behind  a 
shutter.  Some  of  these  gleams  came  from  the 
windows  of  Clara's  house.  Carleton  wandered  up 
and  down  the  Piazza  with  his  cigar,  looking  at  the 
chinks  of  light.  It  occurred  to  him  to  send  in  a 
note  to  ask  if  he  might  be  received,  late  as  it  was; 
but  perhaps  she  would  think  it  indecent  precipita- 
tion. He  had  promised  in  effect  not  to  bother 
her.  He  could  not  risk  boring  her  by  appearing 
at  the  wrong  time. 

While  he  lingered  and  looked  Clara's  piano 
broke  out  brilliantly — the  Chopin  Impromptu  in 
A.  The  glittering  music  seemed  to  his  enchanted 
ear  to  be  gaily  played,  in  lightness  of  heart.  But 
it  ended  abruptly  and  there  was  no  more,  though 
he  stayed  an  hour  longer. 

262 


The  Eternal  Spring 

In  the  morning  he  heard  the  piano  again.  For 
two  hours  she  worked,  phrase  by  phrase,  over  a 
Chopin  concerto;  and  at  the  end  she  played  some 
strange  music,  full  of  far-reaching  chords  and 
Oriental  harmonies.  The  patient  man  spent  his 
morning  thus  within  earshot  and  eyeshot  of  the 
house,  which  kept  its  shutters  obstinately  closed, 
presenting  a  blank  mysterious  front  and  suggest- 
ing an  eager  interesting  life  within.  Finally, 
toward  noon,  Carleton's  watch  was  rewarded.  He 
was  sitting  on  the  bench  under  the  plane-trees, 
talking  to  the  keeper  of  the  wine-shop,  when  the 
door  of  the  house  opened  and  Clara  came  out,  in 
her  short  walking-dress  and  broad  hat,  followed  by 
Fidelio.  She  turned  toward  the  road  leading  into 
the  chestnut-forest,  and  Carleton  overtook  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  Piazza.  Her  greeting  of  him 
was  all  he  had  hoped  for.  She  was  startled,  as 
he  took  her  unawares,  but  her  perturbation  was  of 
good  omen.  She  blushed  as  though  the  hot  sun- 
light had  touched  her  cheeks;  the  colour  and  ex- 
pression of  her  face  wavered,  as  though  seen 
through  a  column  of  shimmering  air.  That  was 
for  a  moment  only. 

263 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  You  mustn't  stand  in  the  sun,"  Carleton  said. 
"  May  I  walk  on  with  you?  " 

"  I  was  going  into  the  wood.  Fidelio  has  to 
have  an  outing  before  his  dinner — and  I  too." 

They  went  on  together. 

"  You've  been  at  work  this  morning.  I  heard 
you." 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Mama  says  my  playing  gets  on 
Fidelio's  nerves — she  declares  that  he  especially 
hates  Chopin !  I  hope  you  weren't  afflicted  long?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  about  here  all  the  morning. 
Last  night  too,  I  heard  you  playing.  I  didn't 
dare  go  up  and  knock." 

"  You  came  last  night?  Why  didn't  you  come 
in?  Mama  will  weep  for  joy  when  she  knows 
you  are  here.  What  do  you  think  of  the  place?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  heavenly.  And  you — do  you 
like  it?" 

"  I  love  it — it  is  so  fresh  and  quiet.  But  Mama 
is  unutterably  bored.  There  she  is  on  the  balcony, 
see?" 

The  winding  road  had  brought  them  in  sight  of 
the  back  of  the  casa.  There  on  the  upper  balcony, 
under  a  gay  awning,  in  a  reclining  chair,  Mrs. 

264 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Langham  was  visible.  She  was  clad  in  a  volumi- 
nous white  neglige,  and  was  reading  something  in 
yellow  covers. 

"  Poor  Mama !  She  is  reduced  to  reading 
novels  half  the  time.  There  are  no  people  yet,  to 
speak  of.  I  hope  you  will  go  and  talk  to  her  soon." 

"  Gladly,"    said  Carleton. 

Gladly  would  he  have  done  anything  she  sug- 
gested, in  that  soft,  quick,  hesitating  voice,  the 
words  coming  out  with  a  little  rush,  then  a  half- 
breathless  pause.  Her  way  of  speaking  seemed  to 
him  unutterably  charming.  Never  had  she  seemed 
so  beautiful  as  now.  Her  colour  was  bright  and 
less  transient ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  fixed  by  the 
sun.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  little  burned,  a  little 
freckled.  She  looked  stronger  and,  in  her  short 
dress,  more  girlish.  There  were  some  crimson 
poppies  on  her  hat,  and  a  little  bunch  of  them 
drooped  at  the  back  against  her  black  hair.  She 
had  a  crimson  belt,  to  match.  As  she  walked  by 
his  side  she  seemed  to  him  like  a  little  girl,  less  tall 
than  he  remembered  her.  Then  he  saw  that  her 
white  shoes  were  without  heels,  that  this  most 
adorable  height  was  her  own ! 

265 


The  Eternal  Spring 

He  absorbed  every  detail  of  her  appearance  in 
those  first  few  moments  of  delighted  vision.  Her 
white  blouse  was  open  a  little  at  the  neck.  She 
wore  a  chain  of  red  coral  and  seed-pearls.  Her 
eyes,  when  she  looked  up,  were  more  green  than 
he  had  ever  seen  them — definitely,  wonderfully 
green  under  their  black  lashes.  A  marvellous  bit 
of  colour  and  life  she  was !  The  determination  to 
appropriate  her  grew  stronger  in  him  each  moment. 

She  had  a  dog-whip  with  a  clasp  at  the  end  in 
her  hand,  and  showed  it  to  Carleton  with  a  smile. 

"  I  have  to  fasten  Fidelio  up  occasionally.  He 
is  fearfully  quarrelsome,  and  he  seems  to  think  the 
dogs  about  here  are  canaille,  hardly  fit  to  live.  He 
nearly  killed  one  the  other  day." 

"  He  looks  fearfully  opinionated,"  said  Carle- 
ton. 

"  He  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer!  " 

"  An  aristocrat  in  the  false  sense.  He  must  be 
an  uncomfortable  person  to  go  about  with." 

"  Oh,  he  is !  Almost  as  bad  as  an  Englishman 
travelling.  He  really  behaves  like  a  beast  if  his 
comfort  is  interfered  with." 

They  were  out  of  sight  of  the  houses  by  now, 
266 


The  Eternal  Spring 

and  the  cool  shade  of  the  wood  enveloped  them. 
The  road  was  checkered  with  bits  of  sunlight,  but 
on  either  side  the  trees  stood  so  thick  as  to  make 
almost  unbroken  shadow.  On  one  side  the  slope 
was  downward,  on  the  other  up,  up  as  far  as  the 
eyes  could  pierce;  and  the  road,  too,  climbed  by 
a  slow  grade,  with  many  windings.  Then  it  dipped 
again  suddenly  and  brought  them,  at  the  head  of 
the  ravine,  to  a  mill,  with  huge,  dripping  water- 
wheel,  and  the  rush  of  the  stream  down  on  the 
rocks.  Meantime  they  went  on  talking  lightly, 
quickly,  with  the  ease  that  pleasure  in  one  another 
gives.  Clara  wanted  to  hear  the  details  of  his 
journey — at  least,  she  led  him  to  talk  about  them 
and  then  about  his  earlier  European  experiences. 
And  here  they  found  they  could  compare  impres- 
sions of  many  places  and  things,  Clara  having  been 
so  much  a  nomad.  Perhaps  it  did  not  much 
matter  what  they  talked  about,  since  all  these  dis- 
coveries of  similarities  of  taste  and  intellectual 
sympathies,  or  of  equally  enchanting  differences, 
were  a  foregone  conclusion;  given  the  original 
impulse  toward  one  another,  the  original  impres- 
sion, too  strong  to  be  disturbed  by  any  adverse 

267 


The  Eternal  Spring 

discovery.  Enough  that  they  found  they  liked  the 
same  things — Nature,  simple  living,  primitive  art, 
modern  music,  and,  especially,  Life ! 

On  that  first  walk  they  became  sure  of  this  much 
— and  perhaps  of  much  more  that  was  un- 
expressed. Then  Clara  had  to  hurry  back  for 
luncheon  with  her  mother.  She  asked  Carleton  to 
come  to  tea  at  half-past  four,  after  which  they 
would  make  some  sort  of  excursion — driving, 
probably.  He  lingered  a  moment  at  her  door, 
deeply  reluctant  to  leave  her.  His  fascinated  gaze 
had  to  have  some  excuse. 

"  You're  looking  so  well — and  happy !  Is  that 
— the  happiness — -only  a  mood,  too?  " 

"  Who  knows?  I  am  always  hoping  it  will  last. 
It's  like  all  the  Delia  Robbia  experiments — if  I 
only  could  get  the  right  glaze !— " 

She  laughed,  and  withdrew  behind  the  shuttered 
door. 

"  Till  half-past  four,  then,"  cried  Carleton,  and 
sighing  deep  and  loverlike,  he  betook  himself  up 
to  the  hotel. 


268 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NOW  began  for  Carleton  a  brief  season  of 
idyllic  charm.     Tacitly  whatever  there 
was  of  doubt,  perplexity  and  shadow  in 
his  relation  to  Clara  was  put  aside.     She  made 
him  welcome.     She  was  all  charm  and  sweetness. 
She  was  light-hearted  as  he  had  never  before  seen 
her;  she  sang    and  laughed,  as  they  made  their 
daily  excursions  in  the  forest. 

It  was  understood  that  they  spent  their  days 
together,  after  Clara  had  got  through  her 
morning's  work.  But  it  was  also  understood  that 
they  could  not  go  about  alone.  On  carriage  excur- 
sions Mrs.  Langham  chaperoned  them.  But  they 
both  preferred  walking,  and  Mrs.  Langham  vould 
not  walk.  In  this  emergency  Carleton  managed'to 
enlist  Mrs.  Mallot  on  his  side.  With  a  love  of 
exercise  and  a  wiry  incapacity  for  fatigue  this  lady 
combined  a  generous  interest  in  her  fellowmen  and 
a  passion  for  old  furniture.  All  these  things  joined 

269 


The  Eternal  Spring 

to  make  her  a  willing  companion  to  Carleton  and 
Clara.  For  their  long  walks  and  climbs  always 
had  for  objective  some  little  town,  where  there 
was  almost  always  a  casa  mobiliata  in  which  could 
be  found  an  inlaid  table,  or  a  chair,  or  bit  of  em- 
broidery that  pleased  Mrs.  Mallot's  eye.  Then, 
while  she  made  her  bargain,  the  other  two  could 
talk,  sitting,  perhaps,  in  the  dim  little  church,  or 
awaiting  her  before  the  tiny  cafe  where  the  inva- 
riable vermouth,  and  nothing  else,  was  to  be 
obtained.  She  always  gave  them  a  generous  al- 
lowance of  time;  and  they  had  other  chances  along 
the  road  while  she  pretended  to  botanise.  Carleton 
had  taken  her  into  his  confidence,  and  she  warmed 
his  heart  by  her  sincer^  enthusiasm  for  Clara. 

Her  two  brothers  were  often  of  the  party.  They 
were  leisurely,  quiet  men,  with  a  kind  of  ripe 
bloom  of  aspect  and  manner,  an  eminently  social 
cheerfulness.  On  more  intimate  acquaintance  they 
disclosed  an  astonishing  variety  of  experience.  The 
elder  was  a  Catholic,  and  had  been  a  Trappist 
monk  in  Spain ;  the  younger  a  Methodist  mission- 
ary in  China.  Mrs.  Mallot  had  spent  her  girlhood 
in  the  East,  and  had  lived  for  months  at  a  time  in 

270 


The  Eternal  Spring 

a  harem,  the  guest  of  one  of  the  princesses.  She 
now  had  a  number  of  children,  nearly  all  married 
and  settled.  Carleton's  liking  for  her  grew  stead- 
ily, and  she  encouraged  him  to  talk  to  her  about 
Clara  on  the  occasions  when  Mrs.  Langham  or 
someone  else  carried  the  girl  off. 

These  occasions,  at  first  rare,  became  increasingly 
frequent.  The  English  friends  of  Elizabeth — a 
sharp-nosed  dowager,  Lady  Mervine,  who  did  not 
make  calls,  and  Sir  Anthony,  her  son — began  invit- 
ing the  Langhams  to  tennis  and  tea.  In  this  way 
they  met  the  little  world  of  villa  people;  and  some 
of  these  began  to  haunt  the  house,  notably  a  hand- 
some youth  of  twenty-two,  Marchese  Malvini,  of 
a  striking  and  rather  brutal  Neapolitan  type.  The 
hotels  were  filling  up.  A  dance  and  a  concert  were 
given  at  the  Casino  down  in  the  town.  Mrs, 
Langham  was  rather  strenuous  in  amusing  herself, 
and  Clara  was  more  and  more  engaged. 

Carleton  became  conscious  that  he  was  capable 
of  jealousy.  The  elder  brother  of  Mrs.  Mallot 
remarked  to  him  one  day,  a  propos  of  nothing  in 
particular,  that  he  could  not  see  how  anyone  ven- 
tured to  marry  American  girls,  since,  with  all  their 

271 


The  Eternal  Spring 

charm,  they  had  so  much  individuality.  Carle- 
ton  wondered  if  he  had  thought  of  marrying 
Clara! 

He  became  violently  jealous  of  Sir  Anthony,  a 
stout  and  eminently  placid  man,  because  he  danced 
(abominably)  with  Clara  some  three  or  four  times 
in  an  evening.  He  watched  with  keen  suspicion 
young  Malvini's  incessant  visits,  till  it  dawned  on 
him  that  Malvini  was  attracted  more  by  Mrs. 
Langham  than  by  Clara. 

He  was  aware  that  an  irrational  amount  of  emo- 
tion went  into  these  jealousies;  and  when  Clara 
was  with  him  he  was  still  quite  happy  and  almost 
at  peace.  She  seemed  happy  to  be  with  him.  She 
enjoyed  their  exploration  of  the  forest-depths  and 
the  remote  villages  where  the  summer-people  never 
penetrated,  infinitely  more  than  the  small  social 
activities  of  these  people.  Sometimes  he  visited 
her  at  the  house.  They  sat  on  the  balcony  and  he 
read  Wordsworth  and  Heine  to  her;  or  she  played 
for  him,  and  sometimes  sang,  Schumann-Heine 
and  Grieg,  or  perhaps  something  she  had  set  her- 
self. Her  music  was  a  most  poignant  pleasure  to 
hirr  especially  he  loved  her  singing,  and  sitting 

272 


The  Eternal  Spring 

where  he  could  see  her  face,  which  was  then  more 
than  ever  the  face  of  a  Madonna,  he  felt  himself 
assailed  on  all  sides  by  her  varied  charm,  and  sink- 
ing fathoms  deep  in  love. 

They  had  wonderful  days,  when  piercing  the 
ring  of  hills  immediately  surrounding  them,  they 
visited  some  less  primitive,  larger,  but  still  un- 
frequented town,  where  a  faded  gilded  picture, 
Scuola  di  Giotto,  or  Byzantine  carvings  from  the 
dawn  of  art,  illumined  the  silent  churches.  Days 
of  pure  gold  these  were,  with  the  fresh  beauty  of 
the  flowery  country,  the  delicious  air;  with  pleas- 
ant, easy  talk  by  the  way,  or  silence,  and  a  rural 
meal  of  bread,  cheese,  fruit  and  wine  to  break  the 
journey;  with  the  gaiety  and  the  deep,  sweet  dis- 
quiet of  two  human  creatures  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer  to  one  another. 

Carleton's  heart  leaped  to  see  how  she  bloomed 
in  his  companionship.  She  looked  another  crea- 
ture from  the  fragile  girl  of  La  Fontanella.  She 
seemed  strong  in  body  and  soul.  She  could  walk 
easily  six  and  seven  miles  a  day,  climbing  over 
rough  paths;  and  for  long  after  his  arrival  there 
was  not  a  sign  of  her  former  melancholy  moodi- 

273 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ness.     She  seemed  even  to  have  shaken  off  the 
oppression  of  her  mother's  personality. 

Carleton  could  not  but  see,  however,  that  if  she 
did  this  it  was  by  an  effort;  the  depressing  influ- 
ence of  that  personality  remained,  for  the  time  in 
the  background,  but  perpetually  trying  to  show 
itself.  Seeing  Mrs.  Langham  daily,  as  he  now  did, 
he  rapidly  came  to  consider  her  as  a  kind  of  mias- 
matic fog,  hanging  about  some  dark  slough  and 
sullenly  threatening  disaster.  She  began  to  loom 
portentous  in  his  imagination.  The  perception  of 
her  colossal  selfishness  and  hardness  grew  upon 
him.  The  sight  of  her  carefully  tended  beauty 
became  hateful  to  him.  She  seemed  ridiculous,  but 
also  terrible.  He  could  never  be  long  in  her  com- 
pany without  seeing  in  her  the  woman  whose  folly 
had  cost  two  men's  lives.  Instead  of  being  crushed 
or  even  softened  by  that  tragedy,  she  had  been 
hardened  by  it  in  her  self-indulgence  and  narrow 
egotism.  Apparently  she  had  forgotten  all  about 
it;  at  any  rate,  she  wished  to  forget  it,  or  to  have 
it  forgotten.  A  superior  dramatic  sense  or  clever- 
ness, Carleton  reflected,  would  have  led  her  to 
recognise  and  use  it.  She  might  have  wrapped 

274 


The  Eternal  Spring 

herself  in  it,  as  in  a  sombre  pall,  magnificently. 
She  might  have  been  effective  as  the  wronged 
woman,  the  real  victim  of  the  tragedy.  But  clever- 
ness seemed  as  remote  from  her  as  any  kind  of 
largeness.  Therefore,  in  trying  to  ignore  her  past 
she  had  only  fixed  attention  on  it,  and  made  herself 
appear  what  she  insisted  she  was  not.  Therefore, 
she  was  not  effective,  except  as  a  scourge  to  those 
connected  with  her.  There  was  no  real  force  behind 
her  ruthless  self-assertion.  Her  beauty  all  her  life 
long,  he  felt,  had  been  an  empty,  and  so  a  cheap, 
lure.  But  it  had  been  a  power — her  only  power — 
and  now  it  was  all  she  had  left;  and  it,  too,  was 
failing  her — slowly,  perhaps,  but  with  a  dreadful 
sureness.  Augusta  was  growing  stout.  And  some- 
times, taken  unawares,  as  the  informality  of  their 
present  domestic  arrangements  allowed,  she  ap- 
peared to  Carleton  imperfectly  got  up.  Then 
she  appeared  merely  a  dreadful  old  woman. 

He  tried  to  see  her  good  points;  her  frankness, 
lack  of  sentimentality,  and  her  entire  willingness  to 
live  and  let  live.  But  even  these  he  could  not  see 
except  as  the  results  of  her  egotism  and  want  of 
imagination.  Gradually  he  was  coming  to  detest 

275 


The  Eternal  Spring 

her.  And  yet  she  was  the  mother  of  Clara;  and 
constantly,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  was  watching  for 
some  point  of  resemblance  between  them.  He 
could  not  find  any,  except  a  very  slight  physical 
likeness;  but  the  search  had  a  fearful  fascination. 
He  had  always  disliked  to  see  a  girl  handicapped 
by  the  constant  presence  of  even  the  best  of  moth- 
ers, since  the  future  thus  in  a  measure  indicated 
for  her  could  almost  never  be  anything  but  a  han- 
dicap. But  in  this  instance  his  revolt  was  pro- 
found. He  kept  assuring  himself  that  Clara  did 
not  and  never  could  really  resemble  her  mother, 
even  physically.  Mrs.  Langham  v/as  a  big  woman 
and  phlegmatic;  Clara  was  small-boned,  delicate, 
nervous.  Mentally,  temperamentally,  they  were 
opposite  as  the  poles.  But  this  handicap  of  Clara's 
acted  in  curious  fashion — actually  as  a  spur  to  his 
ardour.  He  felt  a  passionate  pity  for  her,  a  pas- 
sionate desire  to  make  up  to  her  for  what  had  been 
unfortunate  in  her  life.  More  and  more  he  felt 
that  she,  with  any  drawback  she  might  have,  with 
any  danger  even  in  herself,  was  a  thousand  times 
dearer  and  more  to  be  desired  than  he  had  ever 
thought  any  woman  could  be.  He  was  willing  to 

276 


The  Eternal  Spring 

take  any  risks  with  her  and  for  her.  Let  her  only 
be  his,  and  whatever  the  past  or  the  future  should 
threaten  them  with  should  be  boldly  faced. 

Meantime,  he  saw  that  he  stood  in  their  house- 
hold as  a  recognised  suitor  of  Clara.  He  was 
accepted  on  that  plane  without  any  words  about  it. 
Mrs.  Langham  rather  ostentatiously  kept  away 
from  the  usual  maternal  attitude.  She  showed  no 
solicitude,  no  extraordinary  interest  in  him.  She 
had,  indeed,  the  entirely  detached  attitude  that 
might  have  been  hers  toward  the  recognised  lover 
of  some  other  woman.  But  she  took  him  for 
granted — his  constant  presence  and  companionship 
with  Clara ;  and  Clara  also  took  these  for  granted. 
He  felt  that  something  must  have  been  said  about 
him  between  them,  though  their  curious  relation, 
or  lack  of  relation,  made  him  uncertain  of  the 
extent  of  confidence  Clara  could  give  to  her 
mother.  There  could,  of  course,  be  no  tender 
confidence  between  them.  There  was  no  love 
between  them.  That  was  clearly  obvious.  Between 
them  was  a  great  gulf  fixed.  They  were  spiritually 
like  two  strangers,  thrown  by  accident  into  a  prox- 
imity equally  painful  to  both. 

277 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Their  disagreements  in  domestic  life  Clara  quite 
frankly  revealed  to  Carleton.  She  took  them, 
however,  lightly  and  philosophically.  She  told 
him  about  her  housekeeping,  which,  on  the  whole, 
she  enjoyed.  Troubles  with  the  cook  and  trades- 
men, and  the  discomforts  of  "  Mama  "  and  Fide- 
lio  and  the  English  maid,  who  finally  gave  warn- 
ing, she  depicted  with  humour.  He  saw  that  she 
could  take  small  worries  easily,  and  could  free 
herself  from  their  atmosphere  by  going  to  work  at 
her  music,  or  getting  out  with  him  into  the  woods, 
where  always  she  seemed  happy  and  at  peace. 

He  got  her  to  join  the  tennis-club  at  the  lower 
town,  and  to  play  with  him,  though  she  played  very 
badly.  She  protested  that  the  Italian  air,  even  in 
these  hills,  was  not  favourable  to  anything  so  vio- 
lent, and  pronounced  in  favour  of  croquet,  at 
which  she  was  an  expert.  But  Carleton  insisted  on 
the  tennis,  and  she  gracefully  yielded.  Her  sweet- 
ness was  really  a  miracle  to  him.  He  had  not 
thought,  when  they  parted  at  La  Fontanella,  that 
he  could  so  easily  have  gained  so  much  ground 
with  her.  It  almost  seemed  that  some  force  must 
have  been  working  for  him  in  his  absence.  For  in 

278 


The  Eternal  Spring 

these  weeks  since  his  arrival  at  Bagni  he  had  had 
no  reason  to  think  that  first  impression  of  her  a 
mistaken  one.  There  had  been  some  change  in 
her,  and  that  change  was  favourable  to  him. 

Thus  he  was  happy — very,  very  happy — in  spite 
of  occasional  thorns.  He  knew  that  some  time 
soon  he  should  tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  And 
now  he  felt  deeply  sure  of  her.  It  was  not  a  confi- 
dence that  was  in  any  way  liable  to  be  expressed — 
it  lay  too  deep  for  that,  in  a  kind  of  instinct — and, 
indeed,  he  sometimes  doubted  superficially,  as  he 
was  superficially  jealous.  But  the  depths  of  his 
feeling  were  not  stirred  as  yet  by  anything  but  his 
love. 

Deep  as  this  lay  the  source  of  his  happiness  and 
well-being.  It  was  no  wonder  that  in  this  atmos- 
phere, physical  and  moral,  his  nervous  health  came 
back.  He  began  to  feel  that  he  never  had  been 
ill,  tired,  spent.  Outdoor  life  and  happiness — his 
prescription  for  Clara — were  giving  him  back  the 
buoyancy  of  youth.  He  ate  and  slept  wonderfully. 
Sometimes  he  went  off  on  long  tramps  alone;  and 
in  the  solitude  of  the  forest  the  impulse  came  on 
him  to  sing,  to  shout,  to  throw  himself  on  the  moss 

279 


The  Eternal  Spring 

and  roll,  for  sheer  vigour  of  spirits.  It  was  a  renas- 
cence of  his  joy  in  life;  and  life  seemed  to  him 
now  infinitely  good,  infinitely  rich;  its  troubles  and 
griefs  but  like  foam  on  the  surface  of  a  full,  pour- 
ing tide. 

He  had  almost  forgotten  Florence,  Elizabeth, 
America,  all  outside  this  little  spot  of  earth  that 
held  his  delight.  Then,  one  day,  coming  back 
alone  from  a  twenty-mile  walk,  he  found  at  the 
hotel  some  American  letters,  forwarded  from  Flor- 
ence. With  an  unpleasant  shock  he  recognised  on 
one  the  name  and  handwriting  of  Crittenden,  the 
specialist  in  nervous  diseases,  to  whom  he  had  writ- 
ten weeks  ago  from  La  Fontanella.  He  remem- 
bered at  once  the  text  of  his  own  letters,  and 
realised  that  this  reply  would  be  an  expert  opinion 
on  Clara's  chances  of  inheriting  insanity.  The 
shadow  that  had  been  put  far  from  him  for  these 
weeks  came  down  black  and  frightful.  His  hands 
actually  trembled  as  he  held  the  letter. 

He  put  it  down  deliberately,  and  bathed  and 
dressed  for  dinner.  And  meantime  he  reassured 
himself  thus:  Crittenden  had  had  from  him  only 

280 


The  Eternal  Spring 

a  layman's  account  of  the  case,  and  not  a  full 
account,  either,  of  course.  Therefore,  he  could 
not  give  a  final  or  even  a  very  definite  opinion. 
And  with  his  habitual  caution,  it  was  more  than 
likely,  after  all,  that  he  would  give  no  opinion. 
Fortified  by  this  conclusion,  Carleton  read  the 
letter. 

Crittenden  began  with  some  friendly  comment 
on  Carleton  and  Italy,  and  proceeded  thus : 

'  The  heredity  of  insanity  is  a  slippery  subject, 
and  in  all  likelihood  you  will  not  be  much  enlight- 
ened by  the  following  well-meant  remarks :  More 
and  more  we  are  limiting  heredity  to  purely 
somatic  elements.  Matters  of  function,  of  emo- 
tion, of  changing  circumstance,  of  stress  and  strain, 
of  nutrition,  of  training,  do  not  come  under  this 
head,  and  therefore  are  foreign.  Characteristics 
that  are  evolved  and  controlled  by  these  last-named 
factors  are  temporary,  and  at  most  point  to  a 
predisposition.  Indeed,  a  large  part  of  what  is 
commonly  called  heredity  is  no  more  than  predis- 
position working  in  a  favourable  environment.  In 
the  case  of  your  girl  there  is  no  necessary  taint  of 

281 


The  Eternal  Spring 

insanity  at  all.  The  father  may  or  may  not  have 
committed  murder.  If  he  did  and  for  the  reason 
of  a  wife's  infidelity,  he  should  be  regarded  as  the 
victim  of  a  temporary  aberration  or  excitement 
produced  in  part  by  a  temporary  deviation  from 
his  normal  good  health  and  in  part  by  the  ancient 
prejudices  of  society,  which  considers  such  a  form 
of  violence  as  salving  the  murderer's  '  honour.'  It 
is  an  analogue  to  the  honour-saving  virtue  of  a 
duel.  And  there  is  just  as  much  insanity  in  a 
duel  as  in  such  a  murder. 

"  The  girl,  as  you  say,  has  attacks  of  melan- 
cholia; also,  if  you  didn't  say  it,  she  suffers  from 
neurasthenia.  She  was  almost  certainly  picked  out 
for  such  a  condition.  She  was  sensitive,  emotional, 
led  a  sedentary  life,  doubtless  was  irregular  in  her 
habits,  did  little  physical  work.  Such  people  need 
much  less  than  a  murder  in  the  family  to  fit  them 
for  the  Simple  Life  House.  If  they  haven't  a 
reason,  they'll  develop  enough  industry  to  make 
one.  Moreover,  their  abnormality  frequently 
develops  a  wondrous  love  for  self-pity,  for  the  pity 
of  others;  and  under  stress  of  this  emotion  will 
suffer  all  sorts  of  self-inflicted  miseries.  As  a  rule, 

282 


The  Eternal  Spring 

your  girl  should  come  under  this  caption.  When 
she  refused  marriage,  if  she  loved  the  man,  she 
was  not  really  influenced  by  altruistic  ideas;  she 
was  merely  playing  a  star  part.  This  interpreta- 
tion may  not  please  you,  but  it  is  pretty  apt  to  be 
true.  If  the  silly  thing  would  only  marry  the  right 
sort  of  male  animal,  who  would  know  how  to  pet 
her  with  one  hand  and  slap  her  with  the  other;  if 
she  were  not  so  rich  as  to  suffer  from  ingrowing  • 
money;  if  she  had  two  to  four  babies  whom  she 
was  to  care  for  with  her  own  white  hands;  if  she 
developed  regular  habits  of  work  and  play — of  a 
surety  she  would  not  be  troubled  with  melancholia 
and  maunderings  about  such  a  trifle  as  having  a 
murderer  in  the  family. 

"  However,  if  the  father  of  your  fool  girl  had 
the  real  thing  in  homicidal  mania,  founded  upon 
a  real  nervous  lesion,  there  would  doubtless  have 
been  an  hereditary  taint,  a  possible  septic  sickness 
or  injury,  and  a  train  of  well-defined  symptoms, 
with  a  central  fact  of  clearly  expressed  delusion  of 
persecution.  And  in  that  case  there  would  be  a 
possibility  of  the  inheritance  descending  in  the 
direct  line,  or  perhaps  skipping  one  generation  and 

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The  Eternal  Spring 

reappearing  in  the  next.  But  this  possibility  con- 
stitutes no  more  of  a  chance  than  the  present  state 
of  the  universe  justifies  one  in  taking  .  .  ." 

That  was  the  substance  of  the  letter  as  it  bore 
on  Clara.  The  effect  of  it  on  Carleton  was  tre- 
mendously disturbing.  Not  that  it  affected  in  the 
least  his  position  toward  Clara  or  his  feeling  for 
her.  Indeed,  the  weight  of  Crittenden's  judgment 
was  on  his  side — in  favour  of  his  own  instinctive 
optimism.  But  it  stirred  the  whole  thing  up  again, 
when  he  had  almost  succeeded  in  feeling  that  it  had 
no  real  importance,  no  necessary  bearing  on  his 
relation  to  Clara.  And  that  last  paragraph,  that 
proviso,  that  possibility,  made  it  wretchedly  plain 
that  it  was  important,  that  it  must  be  taken  into 
account. 

It  amounted  to  this:  If  Charles  Langham  had 
had  "  the  real  thing  in  homicidal  mania,"  his 
daughter  was  liable  to  a  fate  much  worse  than 
immediate  death.  And  who  was  to  say  whether  or 
not  he  had  had  the  real  thing?  He  had  been  fifteen 
years  in  his  grave.  There  was  but  one  witness  to 
his  real  condition  at  hand ;  and  it  was  to  her  inter- 
est to  make  out  that  he  had  been  a  maniac,  or  at 

284 


The  Eternal  Spring 

least  to  becloud  the  whole  matter.  This  was  what 
she  had  done,  and  doubtless  would  continue  to  do. 

And  Clara,  then,  must  continue  to  live  as  she 
had  lived,  with  that  possibility  hanging  over  her? 

If  she  must,  at  least  he  would  share  it  with  her. 
He  would  protect  her  as  far  as  possible,  stand 
between  her  and  that  fear  if  he  could.  He  would 
marry  her  as  soon  as  possible.  And  if  it  came  to 
the  worst,  they  could  die  together. 

He  went  out  of  the  hotel,  forgetting  his  fatigue 
and  his  dinner,  and  rushed  down  the  hill.  He 
never  knew  exactly  where  he  wandered  that  night ; 
but  he  ended  up  at  the  little  cafe  by  the  river's 
edge  some  hours  later.  He  persuaded  them  to 
give  him  some  food,  and  sat  there  in  the  solitary 
square,  eating  and  listening  to  the  rush  of  the  river, 
too  tired  now  to  think  any  more. 


285' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

EARLY  the  next  morning  he  went  down 
and  asked  for  Clara.  Lucie  told  him 
that  she  had  gone  into  the  wood  with 
Fidelio ;  and  he  followed  her,  welcoming  this  piece 
of  good  fortune.  It  had  been  arranged  that  they 
were  to  walk  that  afternoon,  with  Mrs.  Mallot, 
to  a  place  deep  in  the  hills,  a  town  which  they  had 
not  yet  visited ;  but  Carleton  had  no  mind  to  wait 
till  the  afternoon.  He  went  slowly  along  the  road, 
glancing  from  side  to  side  through  the  trees;  but 
he  might,  after  all,  have  missed  her  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Fidelio.  That  superior  animal  was  pres- 
ently to  be  observed,  rooting  delicately  in  the  fallen 
leaves  and  spines  of  last  year's  chestnut-burrs,  at 
the  base  of  a  flat  rock.  He  barked  as  Carleton 
approached,  and  sniffed  at  him  suspiciously,  for 
they  had  not  yet  become  friends.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  rock  Clara  was  lying  full-length  on  the 

286 


The  Eternal  Spring 

moss,  her  feet  crossed,  her  hands  clasped  under 
her  head,  staring  up  at  the  patches  of  blue  sky  seen 
through  the  chestnut  boughs.  She  sat  up  when  she 
saw  Carleton,  and  looked  at  him  rather  abstract- 
edly. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said.  "  This  is  great 
luck,  finding  you  here.  I  was  afraid  you  might 
be  at  work." 

"  I  was,"  she  said,  still  absently.  "  I  was  com- 
posing— something  I  wanted  to  write " 

"  Forgive  me,  but  I  wanted  so  much  to  see  you. 
It  seemed  an  endless  time  to  wait  till  this  after- 
noon. Shall  I  go  away,  or  may  I  stay  a  little 
while?" 

"  Well — perhaps  just  a  little  while,"  she  con- 
ceded with  a  remote  smile.  "  But  this  mustn't  be 
a  precedent,  you  know — else  I  shall  get  nothing 
done,  and  then  I  shall  be  in  a  bad  temper.  I  am 
terribly  indolent  by  nature,  and  you  mustn't  encour- 
age me." 

He  sat  down  on  the  moss,  a  little  below  her,  but 
near.  She  clasped  her  arms  about  her  knees,  and 
looked  about  her,  sighing  vaguely. 

"  I  really  was  working  hard  when  you  came — 
287 


The  Eternal  Spring 

though  you  mightn't  have  thought  it  to  look  at 
me,"  she  murmured. 

"  I  didn't  think  it,  or  I  suppose  I  should  not 
have  dared  to  address  you !  You  are  very  good  to 
take  my  interference  so  kindly." 

"Oh!  .  .  .  It  is  sweet  out  here,  isn't  it." 
It  was  wonderfully  sweet,  and  he  looked  for 
some  moments  in  silence  down  the  shadowy  slope, 
at  the  foot  of  which  the  brook  ran,  unseen  but 
noisy.  Clara's  liquid  greenish  eyes  showed  a  soft 
contentment.  Her  hat  lay  beside  her  on  the 
ground;  her  hair  was  a  little  rumpled,  and  some 
bits  of  dry  moss  were  caught  in  it.  Her  feet  were 
pressed  into  the  deep,  soft  cushion  of  moss  on 
which  she  had  been  lying,  and  Carleton  remem- 
bered she  had  told  him  that  she  wore  heelless 
shoes  so  that  she  might  "  feel  the  earth."  She 
put  up  her  hand  now  to  pin  her  hair  back  and  to 
disengage  from  its  glistening  black  threads  the 
fragments  of  moss  and  bark.  Then  she  dipped 
her  fingers  into  the  living  moss,  touched  it  caress- 
ingly, half  unconsciously.  Her  enjoyment  of  the 
earth  was  like  this — deep,  constant,  but  silent.  She 
almost  never  spoke  of  it. 

288 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  What  was  it  you  were  composing?  "  Carleton 
asked  after  a  little. 

"  Oh,  a  setting  for  an  Irish  song  I  have  a  fancy 
for:  it's  about  a  child  stolen  by  the  fairies. 

"  Come  away,  O  human  child ! 
To  the  woods  and  waters  wild, 
With  a  fairy  hand-in-hand, 
For  the  world's  more  full  of  weeping 
than  you  can  understand." 

She  hummed  the  refrain  softly,  and  then  said: 

"  There's  wonderful  material  in  the  Irish  music. 
I  don't  care  for  any  music  unless  it's  national. 
That's  the  trouble  with  us  Americans — we  have 
no  national  quality.  Some  people  have  tried  to 
make  something  of  the  Indian  music,  but  it's  too 
simple,  too  primitive.  I've  heard  some  wonderful 
negro  music — not  the  '  plantation  '  sort,  but  wild, 
barbaric,  the  real  thing!  But  that  is  African,  of 
course,  not  American." 

"  You  are  interested  in  something  American, 
then?" 

"  Oh — this  is  only  something  that  ought  to  be, 
you  see,  not  anything  that  is." 

289 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But  do  you  think  you  ever  could  be  interested 
in  America — going  back  there,  I  mean?  " 

His  heart  beat  absurdly  as  he  asked  that  ques- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Why  should  I?  Go  back, 
I  mean." 

"  I  don't  know  .  .  .  unless  you  went  with 
me.  ...  I  don't  mean  that  I  think  particu- 
larly of  going  back  .  .  .  but  only  to  be  with 
you,  wherever  it  may  be."  He  stopped,  and  then 
added,  in  a  lower,  trembling  voice:  "  If  you  can 
care  for  me,  I  want  you  to  live  with  me  .  .  . 
forever." 

Clara  sat  quite  still,  not  looking  at  him,  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  and  said 
softly,  "You  dear!" 

He  kissed  her  cheek,  a  light,  glancing  kiss,  for 
she  turned  quickly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said. 
'  Yes.     .     .     .     Yes,  you  do  know,  dear.     It 
must  be     ...     if  you  can  love  me." 

"  I  do  like  you  very  much — more  than  anyone." 

"  Enough  to  marry  me,  Clara?  " 

"  Yes— if  that  were  all." 
290 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  If  it  were  all?  But  what  else  is  there?  That's 
all  that  matters." 

"  No." 

She  was  very  grave.  Her  eyes  met  his  clearly, 
without  hesitation. 

"  I  will  marry  you  if  I  can.  But  I'm  not  sure 
that  I  can." 

"  Why?  Do  you  mean  that  you're  not  sure  of 
yourself?  " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that,  partly.  I'm  not  sure 
whether  I  dare  to." 

"Is  there  something  you  distrust  about  me?" 

"  No,  no.    I  could  trust  you  with  anything !  " 

"Then     .     .     .     trust  me  with  all." 

"  But  I'm  not  sure  that  it  is  right  that  I  should 
— right  for  me — to  you.  It's  too  much.  I — 
should  be  a  burden " 

"Clara!     .     .     ." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  shrank  from 
him. 

u  It's  true — you  would  find  it  so !  There's  so 
much  about  me  that  is  unhappy " 

"  Clara     .     .     .     what  does  it  matter? " 

"  Don't  say  that." 

291 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"But  I  must  say  it,  if  I  feel  it.  Nothing  on 
earth  matters  to  me  beside  you.  If  you  will  love 
me,  I  shall  thank  you  all  my  life  long." 

"  Ah,  who  knows?  You  might  come  to  feel  me 
only  a  burden  .  .  ." 

"  Clara,  my  dearest!  " 

She  protested,  with  hands  outstretched  against 
him. 

"  No,  no ;  you  don't  see !  Perhaps  you  are  will- 
ing to  take  the  risk,  but  you  don't  see  what  it  would 
mean  to  me !  You  don't  see  what  it  means  to  me 
that  there  should  be  a  risk." 

"  I  do  see.  And  I  take  that  risk,  too.  I  see 
that  it  hurts  your  pride  to  think  that  you  might 
owe  anything  to  me.  And  I  am  content  to  be  your 
debtor  always." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that !  It's  because  you  could  give 
me  so  much — and  I'm  afraid  I  shall  make  no 
return " 

"  Let  me  be  the  judge  of  that." 

She  was  silent  for  some  moments,  still  grave, 
still  resistant. 

"  How  can  I  let  you  be  the  judge  and  decide  it 
all?"  she  then  asked  passionately.  "/  must 

292 


The  Eternal  Spring 

decide,  and  you  must  not  try  to  bend  my  judgment 
to  yours." 

"  Mustn't  I?  "  he  asked  softly.  "  But  at  least 
I  may  plead  my  own  cause.  The  severest  judge 
allows  that." 

"  No,  you  mustn't  plead.  I  shall  have  to  decide 
by  myself." 

"  Of  course,  in  the  end,  you  must.  It  is  all  a 
question  of  your  feeling." 

"  No,  not  feeling !  Feeling  isn't  everything.  I 
must  think!  " 

Carleton  took  her  hand,  that  was  pulling  rest- 
lessly at  the  moss,  and  put  it  to  his  lips. 

"  I  told  you  in  Florence,"  he  said,  u  that  you 
should  not  be  troubled — that  I  would  not  force  on 
you  anything  you  didn't  want.  I'll  try  to  keep  my 
word." 

"Oh,  I'm  troubled;  but  that's  not  your  fault. 
You  have  kept  your  word.  I  wish  to  marry  you — 
it's  what  I  would  choose  if  I  could.  I  will  marry 
you  if  I  can." 

She  said  this  with  soft  sincerity,  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  that  were  all  the  more  beautiful  for  their 
signs  of  tears. 

293 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  My  dearest,  my  beautiful  one!  I  have  loved 
you  a  long  time,  Clara." 

"  Have  you?    How  long?  " 

"  Since  I  first  saw  you." 

"No,  you  didn't  love  me  then!  You  were  in 
love  with  Elizabeth  then." 

"  I  never  was  in  love  with  her,  or  with  any  other 
woman !  I  fell  in  love  with  you  the  first  time 
I  saw  you,  though  I  didn't  know  then  it  was 
love." 

"  Oh,  shame !  That's  just  getting  out  of  it. 
But  you  don't  mean,  really,  that  you  have  never 
been  in  love?  " 

"  I  mean  it  really.  Oh,  of  course  I've  been  in- 
terested in  other  women.  But  I  never  told  any 
woman  but  you  that  I  loved  her." 

"Really?"  She  pondered  this.  "You  are  a 
very  sincere  person,  aren't  you?  That's  what  I 
like  about  you — and  your  strength.  I  think  you're 
very  strong." 

"  You  do  like  me  a  little  then?  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  you  tremendously!  " 

"  But  you're  not  in  love  with  me — not  the  least 
bit?" 

294 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  No.  .  .  .  No,  I  think  not.  I've  never 
been  in  love."  She  paused  to  consider.  "  Should 
you  like  me  better  if  I  were  in  love  with  you?  " 

"  I  like  you  so  much  exactly  as  you  are  that  I 
can't  say." 

"  Then  I  shall  never  change !  I  shall  always 
like  you  just  as  I  do  now,  never  any  more  1 " 

"Nor  any  less?  You  must  promise  that. 
As  for  me,  though  I  like  you  now  as  much  as  pos- 
sible— in  fact,  to  a  quite  incredible  extent — I'm 
sure  that  I  shall  go  on  liking  you  progressively 
more  till  I'm  seventy  or  eighty." 

"  Oh,  no — that  would  be  quite  too  much !  I 
shouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  you.  But  what 
is  it  you  like  me  for?  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  your  eyebrows,  and  the  way  you  do 
your  hair,  and  your  singing,  and  your  always  wear- 
ing white,  and  the  curve  of  your  chin.  Then  you 
are  exactly  the  right  height,  and  you  have  a  won- 
derfully charming  profile " 

"  You  are  frivolous.  I  was  serious  with  you 
and  talked  about  your  soul." 

"  Yes,  because  I'm  an  ugly  man,  and  there's 

nothing  else  to  talk  of.    If  I  were  pretty " 

295 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  You're  not  ugly.  Anyway,  it's  much  better  to 
be  ugly  than  pretty — for  a  man.  You  are  exactly 
the  kind  of  man  I  think  handsome." 

Carleton  bowed  till  his  forehead  touched  the 
ground. 

"  Yes,  really  you  are!  Your  eyes  are  wonder- 
fully blue — and  I  like  them  set  deep  in,  like  that. 
It  makes  you  look  like  a  fighter.  You  are  very 
strong,  aren't  you?  " 

"  Rather.  I  went  in  for  athletics  in  college. 
Ran  pretty  well,  you  know,  and  was  useful  in  foot- 
ball, and  so  on.  But  I'm  afraid  I'm  no  good  at 
fighting.  I'm  not  a  man  of  action,  my  Clara.  I'm 
afraid  I  shall  never  do  anything  spectacular  for 
you,  though,  by  Jove!  I'll  try,  if  you  want  me  to." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  do,  Barry." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  called  him  by  his 
name.  He  looked  at  her  eagerly,  entranced,  and 
kissed  her  hand,  holding  it  still  clasped  in  his. 

"  I  think  I  like  you  best  just  as  you  are,  too." 

"Oh,  Clara,  don't  say  that!     It  makes  me  feel 
what  an  inglorious  person  I  am.     I  wish  I  were 
somebody  very  dazzling,  for  your  sake. 
It's  so  uneven  an  exchange !  " 

296 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  like  you  best  as  you  are,"  she  repeated 
gently.  "  You  are  what  I  think  best  in  the  world. 
I  don't  care  for  what  you  call  '  dazzling.'  It 
doesn't  dazzle  me.  You  are  so  much  more 
than  that!  And  I  like  it  that  we  shall  live  very 
quietly  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  she  rose  on  her  knees  and  put  her 
hand  on  the  rock  to  help  herself  up. 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that  ...  as 
though  it  were  all  settled !  .  .  ." 

"But  it  is  settled!" 

Carleton  got  up,  holding  fast  her  right  hand, 
half-lifting  her,  and  took  her  into  his  arms. 

"  Do  you  think  I'll  let  you  go  now?  Not  for 
all  the  world  and  a  few  stars  thrown  in !  " 

He  had  turned  very  pale,  and  his  voice  shook. 
In  a  moment  he  did  let  her  go,  so  far  as  that  pas- 
sionate clasp  was  concerned,  and  she  moved  away 
from  him.  But-his  eyes  rested  on  her  still  with  a 
possessive  look,  into  which  at  the  hint  of  defeat 
had  flashed  the  fierceness  of  combat. 

She  stooped  for  her  hat,  he  caught  it  up  and 
gave  it  to  her,  and  they  went  up  the  slope  to  the 
road. 

297 


The  Eternal  Spring 

They  walked  in  silence  back  to  the  Piazza,  and 
parted  at  the  door  of  the  house. 

"  You'll  come  to  tea  at  four?  "  Clara  said  with 
a  look  almost  timid. 

"  Yes.     And  then  we'll  have  our  walk." 

He  could  not  tell  just  what  her  visible  agitation 
meant;  whether  he  had  offended  or  frightened  her 
by  his  impetuosity.  Certainly  he  had  broken  the 
letter  of  his  agreement  with  her;  but  it  was  inevi- 
table that  this  should  have  come,  sooner  or  later. 
It  was  impossible  that  he  should  be  as  passive  as 
he  had  half-promised  to  be.  Clara  could  not  be 
left  entirely  to  her  own  devices.  He  could  not  be 
negative  in  his  attitude  toward  her,  nor  had  he 
been  so  at  any  time  during  these  weeks  at  Bagni. 
He  had  been  wooing  her,  and  she  had  been  con- 
senting. And  now  she  ought  not  to  be  disturbed 
by  a  definite  expression — unless  she  had  been 
coquetting  with  him;  and  he  did  not  believe  that. 
What  disturbed  her,  doubtless,  was  the  necessity 
of  an  explanation,  which  she  had  hinted  at  and 
then  precipitately  retreated  from.  But  that,  pain- 
ful as  it  was,  must  be  faced- — they  must  face  it 
together. 

298 


The  Eternal  Spring 

After  he  had  left  her  this  feeling  of  pain  was 
merged  and  lost  in  the  deeper  feeling  of  joy.  He 
went  over  and  over  in  memory  every  word  of  their 
talk,  each  look  and  tone  of  Clara's,  that  light  kiss, 
that  long  moment  when  he  had  held  her  in  his 
arms.  She  had  promised  herself  to  him.  True, 
she  had  made  a  reservation — and  he  had  refused 
to  consider  it.  They  were  not  yet  in  absolute 
agreement;  but  nevertheless  he  was  joyous,  and 
he  became  more  so  as  the  day  passed,  and  she  was 
in  his  sight. 

The  town  for  which  they  were  bound  lay  deep 
in  the  hills,  and  far  from  any  beaten  track.  They 
had  seen  it  at  a  considerable  distance,  from  another 
hill,  and  had  been  struck  by  its  curious  form,  which 
suggested  a  monastery  or  a  military  formation. 
Charming  was  the  mountain-path  they  followed, 
skirting  the  nearest  hills,  and  wandering  up  a  long, 
narrow  valley,  crossing  on  little  bridges  made  of 
halved  tree-trunks  from  side  to  side  of  a  rushing 
brown  brook;  passing  through  copses  of  trees,  by 
wonderful  cascades  where  the  brook  plunged  from 
one  level  to  another,  by  little  fields  of  turf  and 
nurseries  of  young  trees,  divided  by  ancient  walls, 

299 


The  Eternal  Spring 

and  vineyards;  and  at  the  head  of  the  valley  a 
mill  and  peasant's  house.  Above  this  mill  the  climb 
was  steep,  and  the  stream  plunged  over  a  rocky 
bed,  with  only  a  pool  here  and  there  to  rest  in.  By 
one  of  these  pools,  under  drooping  trees,  they  sat 
a  little  while;  and  Clara  laughed  at  the  black 
dragon-flies  skimming  in  crowds  over  the  water, 
and  cried :  "  They  are  exactly  like  black  cats !  " 

For  a  long  time  she  had  been  perfectly  quiet; 
but  now  suddenly  her  spirits  rose.  She  became  gay 
and  gayer.  She  ran  on  ahead,  singing  to  herself 
by  snatches,  and  occasionally  calling  to  Carleton 
and  Mrs.  M allot: 

"  Look  at  my  flowers !     Did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing so  blue?     What  a  heavenly  day!     .     . 
See  the  sky  through    those    olive-branches;    it  is 
absolutely  purple.     .     .     .     Look  back!    Oh,  do 
look  back!" 

At  each  turn  of  the  path  they  must  look  back; 
for  framed  on  its  hill-top  at  the  mouth  of  the  val- 
ley was  a  wonderful  clump  of  brown  roofs  and 
walls,  flanked  by  giant  cypresses;  and  beyond  this, 
as  they  climbed,  came  lifting  into  view  the  real 
mountain-peaks,  bare  and  glinting  in  the  sun. 

300 


The  Eternal  Spring 

By  a  lane  between  hedges  covered  with  linen 
laid  to  dry  they  finally  reached  the  town.  From 
its  highest  point,  the  terrace  before  the  church, 
they  could  look  round  the  whole  circle  of  moun- 
tains, range  after  range  fading  away  into  blue 
distance.  It  was  a  perfect  day;  a  strong  breeze 
sweeping  a  multitude  of  light  clouds  over  the 
mountain-tops,  folds  of  mist  softening  all  distant 
outlines,  yet  the  whole  effect  one  of  clearness  and 
brightness.  The  wind  had  the  sweetness  of  the 
leagues  of  solitary  forest  over  which  it  came,  and 
the  freshness  of  the  sea  that  lay  just  out  of  sight. 

Clara  stood,  breathing  it  in,  and  gazing,  with 
her  gathered  flowers  dropping  one  by  one  from 
her  hands.  Then  she  turned  and  gave  all  the 
remaining  flowers  to  Carleton,  saying: 

" '  Here's  flowers  for  you : 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram; 
The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping;  these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and  I  think,  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age ;  You  are  very  welcome.' " 

And  he  was  quick  enough  to  reply : 
301 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  '  Now,  my  fairest  friend, 

I  would  I  had  some  flowers  of  the  spring,  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day    .    .    .    daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares ' " 

Clara,  laughing,  turned  and  ran  down  the  slope 
into  the  little  square  of  the  town,  leaving  Carleton 
to  follow  with  Mrs.  Mallot.  They  had  bread 
and  cheese,  beer  and  plums  at  a  table  set  out  before 
the  single  place  of  refreshment;  and  a  crowd  of 
children  collected  about  them  to  stare,  to  whom 
Clara  presently  sang  a  rollicking  Irish  ditty,  much 
to  their  amazement.  She  was  aglow  with  colour 
and  light.  Her  eyes  often  met  her  lover's  in  a 
long  look;  her  red  lips  smiled  at  him.  He  had 
no  word  alone  with  her  that  afternoon;  she 
arranged  it  thus,  and  he  acquiesced.  It  was  enough 
for  him,  for  the  time,  to  be  with  her,  to  look  at 
her,  and  to  feel  the  soft  emotion  that  thrilled  in 
her,  that  lent  a  peculiar  grace  to  each  motion  of 
hers;  and  to  know  that  he  had  roused  this  in  her, 
and  it  was  for  him. 


302 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

BUT  when  the  next  day  passed,  and  the 
next,  without  a  chance  of  seeing  Clara 
alone,  Carleton  became  uneasy  and  rather 
angry.  The  Rasolli  family  had  arrived  at  the 
hotel,  and  Clara  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  them. 
She  could,  however,  so  easily  have  managed  what 
Carleton  plainly  showed  he  wanted,  that  her  omis- 
sion to  do  so  was  ominous.  If  she  did  not  want  to 
see  him,  it  was  because  she  meant  to  hold  him  off. 
And  he  fancied  that  he  perceived  this  in  her  man- 
ner— a  sudden  definite  withdrawal  from  the  inti- 
macy that  had  been  theirs  for  weeks  past.  She 
was  certainly  more  nervous,  and  she  seemed  actu- 
ally to  dread  being  left  with  him  for  a  moment. 
He  pitied  her  obvious  disquietude,  but  at  the  same 
time  he  felt  that  the  reason  of  it  must  be  cleared 
up  by  a  talk  between  them.  It  could  not  be  done 
by  her  "thinking"  in  solitude;  and  he  was  hurt 

303 


The  Eternal  Spring 

and  irritated  by  her  attitude,  her  apparent  fear  of 
him. 

For  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  a  drive  had 
been  arranged.  The  Contessa  Rasolli  and  Fran- 
cesca,  Clara  and  her  mother,  young  Malvini  and 
Carleton,  went  in  two  carriages.  Carleton  was 
with  the  two  girls,  and  Malvini,  who  for  some 
time  past  had  been  almost  inseparable  from  Mrs. 
Langham,  escorted  the  elder  ladies.  It  was  Mrs. 
Langham's  affair  and  her  arrangement. 

In  other  circumstances  Carleton  might  have 
enjoyed  it.  Francesca  interested  him  and  even 
as  it  was  he  found  himself  liking  to  hear 
her  quick,  vivacious  talk.  She  was  sombre 
and  passionate  in  look  and  character.  Her 
black  hair  was  lit  by  russet  gleams,  and  her  black 
eyes  had  a  melancholy  fire  in  their  depths.  She 
was  slender  and  graceful,  with  a  definite  simple 
elegance  in  the  way  she  dressed  and  carried  herself. 
Carleton  wondered  that  she  was  still  unmarried, 
while  she  talked  to  him  about  the  life  of  the  Italian 
women  of  her  class. 

"  I  wish  they  could  do  something,"  she  said  with 
energy.  "If  they  would  get  outdoors,  walk  or 

304 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ride,  or  do  gymnastics,  they  would  be  less  unhappy. 
I  would  like  to  start  something  of  that  sort.  The 
women  I  know  are  morbid,  melancholy — you  can 
hardly  imagine  how  much!  And  most  of  it,  I 
think,  comes  from  staying  in  the  house,  and  brood- 
ing. I  am  melancholy,  too — because  I  haven't 
enough  to  do.  I  envy  Clara  her  music.  But  I  can 
do  nothing,  except  learn  languages  and  dance ! 
.  .  .  This  is  a  sad  country — don't  you  find 
it  so?" 

"  I  find  it  quite  perfect — beautiful  and  finished." 

"  Finished !  Ah,  yes,  that's  the  trouble.  It  is 
finished!  Nothing  more  to  come  or  to  do!  And 
for  that  reason  it  is  hard  to  live  in — at  least,  for 
those  who  want  to  live — for  men  who  have  ambi- 
tion, par  example.  For  them  it  is  a  dead  country." 

"  But,  surely,  modern  Italy  is  live  enough.  Some 
parts  of  it  are  almost  American !  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  we  try  to  be !  But  there  again  every- 
thing is  overcrowded.  There  are  so  many  more 
men  than  opportunities.  And  nothing  is  paid 
here.  Teaching  is  worth  nothing,  writing  is  worth 
nothing.  No  Italian  author  makes  anything." 

"Not  D'Annunzio?" 

305 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  if  you  have  a  European  public,  yes!  But 
who  else  has?  We  think  if  a  book  sells  five  hun- 
dred copies  it  is  a  success!  And  look  at  my  poor 
cousin.  What  is  he  to  do  with  philosophy?  And 
he  wishes  a  career,  he  has  high  desires!  " 

"  Ah,  well,  philosophy — the  world  has  not  much 
use  for  that  in  any  case." 

"  But  some  in  your  country  make  a  success  of 
it.  ...  That's  because  you  are  so  big  and 
free,  and  so  many  are  educated.  Isn't  it  so,  Clara? 
But  you  don't  know — you  are  hardly  an  American 
at  all.  Imagine — she  has  a  great,  splendid  country 
like  that,  and  she  knows  nothing  about  it!  " 

"  I  like  your  country  better,  Francesca  dear." 

"  How  do  you  know?  You  should  go  and  make 
acquaintance  with  your  own — and  take  me  with 
you  I  We  will  make  the  voyage  outre  mer  together 
— that  is  quite  proper  in  America,  is  it  not,  Mr. 
Carleton?" 

Clara  laughed.  "  Oh,  if  you  will  come  too,  I 
will  go !  Let  us  propose  it  to  our  mothers." 

She  looked  darkly  at  the  carriage  ahead  of  them. 
There  the  small  Contessa's  lace  bonnet  and  the 
sweeping  plumed  hat  of  Mrs.  Langham,  and  the 

306 


The  Eternal  Spring 

handsome  face  of  Malvini  opposite,  were  partly 
visible  through  a  veil  of  dust. 

"  Let  us  go  a  little  slower — let  them  get  ahead. 
There's  so  much  dust,"  she  added,  and  spoke  to 
the  driver. 

Francesca  glanced  at  her,  then,  unobserved  by 
Clara,  she  exchanged  a  swift  look  with  Carleton. 
And  he  felt  that  the  Italian  girl  understood  the 
whole  situation.  He  felt,  too,  her  affection  for 
Clara.  The  two  were  evidently  very  good  and 
very  intimate  friends.  He  remembered  what 
Clara  had  said  long  ago — that  Francesca  was  the 
one  person  she  loved.  And  he  warmed  to  her  and 
began  to  hope  that  she  might  help  his  chances  with 
Clara  instead  of  hurting  them,  as  he  had  at  first 
feared. 

Clara  was  looking  pale  and  tired.  For  two  days 
now  she  had  had  no  walk;  and  when  he  had  asked 
her  to  go  with  him  next  day  she  had  refused,  on 
the  ground  that  she  was  going  to  a  dance  in  the 
evening.  This  sort  of  thing — driving  a  few  miles 
at  a  slow  pace,  and  stopping  midway  for  tea — was 
what  he  detested,  for  himself  and  for  her,  and  it 
was  being  more  and  more  thrust  upon  her.  Even 

307 


The  Eternal  Spring 

town,  and  watched  a  game  of  tennis,  and  chatted 
with  their  various  acquaintances,  and  drove  slowly 
home,  Carleton  returning  with  Clara  and  the 
Contessa,  who  fluently,  in  charming  Italian-Eng- 
lish, discoursed  to  him  on  D'Annunzio  as  a  poet, 
and  on  the  peculiar  beauty  of  Clara,  which  she 
declared  to  be  of  a  perfectly  Italian  type.  "  Me 
piasche  molto,  Lei''  she  said,  laying  her  beauti- 
fully gloved  small  hand  on  Clara's. 

Carleton  was  struck  anew  by  the  intelligence 
and  charm  of  this  family;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
did  not  see  why  Clara  should  be  absolutely 
absorbed  in  them.  She  and  her  mother  dined  that 
night  with  the  Rasollis  at  the  hotel;  and  Carleton, 
roaming  disconsolately  about,  was  aked  to  join 
them  for  coffee  in  the  billiard-room.  Later  he 
walked  back  with  the  Langhams  to  their  house; 
and  at  the  door  he  said,  "  I  suppose  it's  too  late  to 
ask  to  come  in." 

Mrs.  Langham  said:  "  For  my  part,  I  should 
be  charmed,  but  I  have  a  frightful  headache 
from  the  glare  this  afternoon,  and  am  going  to 
bed." 

And  Clara  hesitated,  so  that  he  gave  it  up. 
3°9 


The  Eternal  Spring 

dancing  was  better  than  this,  though  it  involved 
late  hours  and  consequent  fatigue — and  in  this 
Carleton  was  unselfish,  for  he  did  not  dance. 

"  I  hope  you  like  outdoor  things,"  he  said 
abruptly  to  Francesca.  "  Walking,  and  tennis, 
and  so  on." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  at  all  athletic,"  she  confessed. 
"I  know  I  should  like  it,  but  really  I  don't! 
Except  I  fence  a  little,  and  I  adore  dancing." 

He  sighed.  "  And  I  cannot  dance !  I  foresee 
that  I  shall  see  nothing  of  you.  You  will  be  driv- 
ing, and  tea-ing,  and  doing  society,  and  I  shall  be 
tramping  the  hills  alone,  or  with  Mrs.  Mallott.  I 
don't  believe  she'll  desert  me." 

"  But  it  is  you  who  desert  us!  Isn't  it,  Clara? 
How  can  you  prefer  tramping  to  tea  with  us? 
Here  is  a  bargain:  If  you  will  come  and  watch 
us  dance,  we  will  watch  you  play  tennis.  Surely 
that  is  as  good  as  climbing  hills." 

"  And  we  have  climbed  all  the  hills,  besides," 
said  Clara.  "  Don't  you  think  you'd  like  tennis, 
for  a  change?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  I  want  a  change,"  was  his  reply. 

They  stopped  for  tea  at  the  hotel  in  the  lower 
308 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But  at  least  you'll  go  out  a  little  while  to- 
morrow afternoon?  Even  if  you  don't  want  a  real 
walk,  you  ought  to  have  a  stroll  at  least." 

"  Well,  I  will  go.  No  doubt  Francesca  will, 
too.  Come  to  tea  at  half-past  four." 

She  spoke  quite  coldly.  And  Carleton  went 
back  to  the  hotel,  vowing  that  he  would  see  her 
alone  next  day,  and  that  "  Francesca  "  should  be 
warned  off. 

He  found  her  quite  willing.  She  was  sitting 
near  her  mother  when  he  went  back  to  the  billiard- 
room.  The  Contessa,  her  fingers  flying  in  some 
silken  crochet-work,  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Mallot. 
The  two  Crawfords  were  playing  billiards.  There 
were  some  of  the  new  people  also  in  the  room — an 
American  family  of  daughters,  and  a  fat  German 
baron  with  his  wife.  Carleton  sat  down  beside 
Francesca,  and  she  managed  so  that  he  began  at 
once  to  talk  on  the  subject  uppermost  in  his  mind. 
He  realised  and  was  grateful  for  her  interest  in 
him,  and  her  practical  way  of  showing  it.  He 
knew  that  she  had  been  studying  him,  and  judged 
that  on  the  whole  she  approved  him.  She  was 
clever,  he  saw,  and  very  much  more  mature  than 

310 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Clara,  and  in  spite  of  her  frankness,  her  sincerity, 
she  struck  him  as  infinitely  ruse,  beside  Clara,  or, 
indeed,  any  other  American  woman  he  knew.  She 
had  the  subtlety,  the  complexity,  that  seemed  to 
him  characteristically  Italian.  But  now,  putting 
herself  aside,  she  went  straight  to  the  point  that 
most  interested  him. 

She  began  to  talk  of  Clara,  her  improved  health 
and  spirits,  and  her  character,  in  a  way  that  im- 
plied her  knowledge  of  Clara's  relation  to  him. 
And  her  kindness  and  tact  were  such  that  Carleton 
found  himself  plunging  into  confidences.  He  told 
her  that  he  wanted  to  see  Clara  alone,  and  she 
immediately  arranged  a  plan  for  the  next  after- 
noon. She  seemed  quite  to  understand  that  Clara 
was  trying  to  avoid  that  interview,  and  why. 

"  Clara  is  difficult,"  she  said,  nodding  thought- 
fully. "  But  one  must  not  indulge  her.  She  has 
been  too  much  indulged  all  her  life.  I  mean  she 
has  been  allowed  to  follow  out  her  moods.  Her 
moods  take  possession  of  her,  rule  her,  drive  her. 
She  has  never  had  control,  discipline.  So  she  does 
not  always  know  her  own  will,  her  own  mind.  She 
flies  off — the  more  one  pursues,  the  faster  she  flies 


The  Eternal  Spring 

— and  perhaps  all  the  time  she  really  desires  not 
to  fly.  She  has  the  musical  temperament,  too — 
superficially  it  is  unreasonable.  But  Clara  has 
depth — she  has  reason  if  she  will  only  use  it.  Of 
course,  her  life — her  home,  if  one  may  call  it  so — 
has  been  the  most  unfortunate  possible." 

"  Yes,  but  she  can  outlive  all  that,"  said  Carle- 
ton. 

"  Truly,  I  think  so;  but  she  should  be  separated 
entirely  from  the  mother.  If  necessary,  she 
should  go  to  America — as  far  away  as  possible. 
Her  mother  is  the  worst  person  in  the  world  for 
her.  She  torments  poor  Clara  in  a  thousand  ways 
— oh,  without  meaning  it !  Just  now  it  is  a  question 
of  this  young  fellow,  Malvini.  It  is  partly  this 
that  now  makes  Clara  so  moody.  It  is  becoming 
much  talked  about,  and  Clara  fears — I  don't  know 
what,  she  has  not  said,  but  she  is  unhappy  about  it. 
I  think  she  is  too  sensitive  to  Mrs.  Langham's 
behaviour.  But,  after  all,  one  can  understand 
that." 

"  I  did  not  know — she  said  nothing  to  me  about 
it — about  Malvini,"  said  Carleton,  frowning. 
"  Except  that  I  knew  she  disliked  his  coming  so 

312 


The  Eternal  Spring 

much  to  the  house.  .  .  .  But  I  can't  see  why 
that  should  make  her  unwilling  to  see  me." 

"  But  I  can  see,"  said  Francesca,  and  her  bril- 
liant eyes  seemed,  in  fact,  to  see  everything.  "  It 
brings  up  again  all  that  is  unhappy  in  her  life — 
and  that  seems  to  stand  in  the  way  of  her  marry- 
ing. She  has  truly  a  morbid  feeling  about  her 
mother;  but  it  is  a  terribly  strong  one.  And  she 
is  proud,  Clara !  She  wishes  to  marry,  but  not  at 
a  disadvantage " 

"That  is  foolish!     .     .     ." 

"Perhaps;  but  it  is  very  natural  to  a  woman. 
It  is  natural,  too,  to  run  away  when  some  one 
pursues  with  resolution!  This,  too,  is  dis- 
turbing." 

She  smiled  gaily.  Carleton  was  finding  her  very 
charming,  and  would  have  been  glad  to  talk  indefi- 
nitely ;  but  now  the  Contessa  rose,  and,  with  many 
farewells,  carried  her  daughter  off  upstairs. 

Their  plan  for  next  day  was  carried  out.  They 
all  had  tea  together  on  the  balcony  of  the  Lang- 
hams'  house;  then  the  Contessa  was  left  to  chat 
with  Mrs.  Langham,  and  the  other  three  went  off 
to  walk  in  the  wood.  As  they  came  to  the  turn  in 

3*3 


The  Eternal  Spring 

the  road  from  which  the  balcony  could  be  seen,  the 
Contessa  was  perceived,  standing  and  signalling 
vigorously  in  their  direction. 

"  It  is  for  me — my  mother  wants  me  for  some- 
thing," exclaimed  Francesca.  "  I  must  run  back 
for  a  moment." 

"  We'll  go  back  with  you,"  said  Clara  hurriedly. 

But  Francesca  was  already  some  paces  away. 

"  Go  on — I  shall  overtake  you  in  ten  minutes !  " 
she  cried. 

It  would  have  been  awkward  to  run  after  her; 
Clara  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  turned  and 
walked  slowly  on. 

"  It  was  hardly  worth  so  much  trouble  as  that, 
was  it?  "  she  asked  coldly. 

"  Yes — because  it  was  necessary,"  said  Carleton 
with  firmness. 

"  Why  could  you  not  have  said  so  simply,  then, 
without  this  ridiculous  manoeuvring  with  Fran- 
cesca? " 

"  I  did  try  to  say  so,  and  yoir  showed  plainly 
that  you  were  manoeuvring  to  avoid  it." 

"  Haven't  I  a  right,  then,  to  avoid  what  I  wish 
to  avoid?  .  .  .  You  are  ungenerous.  I  told 

3*4 


The  Eternal  Spring 

you  that  I  must  have  time.  Now  you  are  hurrying 
me,  troubling  me " 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  hurry  you — if  I  can  help  it. 
.  .  .  It  is  true  that  I  must  trouble  you.  I  feel 
that  that  can't  be  avoided  because  of  your  feeling. 
I  must  trouble  you  by  talking  to  you  now,  because 
I  feel  that  you  are  not  now  in  a  position  to  '  think,' 
as  you  said,  to  good  effect.  You  must  know  exactly 
my  point  of  view,  my  feeling.  Then,  take  what- 
ever time  you  need  to  think  it  out,  or  feel  it  out.  If 
you  wish,  I  will  go  away  and  leave  you  quite 
free." 

As  she  did  not  speak,  he  added,  after  a  moment : 
"  That  is  quite  fair,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  from  your  point  of  view,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Doesn't  it  seem  fair,  to  you?  " 

"  It  seems  useless — because  I  do  know  all  the 
things  that  matter,  and  I  am  as  well  able  to  judge 
now  as  I  shall  be  later — better,  perhaps,  for  you 
may  only  confuse  me." 

"  I  must  risk  that.  We  must  talk  things  out, 
Clara — it's  the  only  way  to  be  clear." 

She  made  a  weary  gesture.    "  I  hate  unnecessary 

315 


The  Eternal  Spring 

talking.  It  doesn't  make  things  clearer — it  only 
mixes  them  up." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  as  our  views  of  what  is  neces- 
sary don't  agree,  will  you  make  this  concession  to 
me?" 

"  I  don't  think  .  .  .  you  ought  to  ask 
concessions  just  now." 

"  But  I  do  ask  this  one.  I'm  not  acting  quite 
selfishly,  Clara.  This,  in  my  judgment,  is  best  for 
you." 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  you  should  be  judge  of 
what  is  best  for  me.  It  hasn't  come  to  that  yet !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  has.  I  have,  to  a  certain  extent, 
a  right  to  judge  for  you,  or  at  least  to  influence 
your  judgment." 

"  No — no,  I  can't  see  that  you  have!  " 

"  Clara,  you  gave  it  to  me  three  days  ago,  here. 
Unless  you  were  lying  when  you  said  that  you 
cared  more  for  me  than  for  anyone  else,  and  that 
you  wished  to  marry  me." 

"  Don't  speak  so  roughly  to  me  I  If  you  don't 
leave  me,  I  shall  certainly  cry." 

"  Then  cry,  if  you  must,  Clara.  ...  If 
you  will  listen  to  me  sensibly  for  a  few  minutes,  I 

316 


The  Eternal  Spring 

will  promise  to  be  as  brief  as  possible.  And  I  will 
go  away  to-morrow  if  you  wish  it." 

Clara  sat  down  on  a  rock  by  the  roadside,  and 
said  chillingly: 

'  Very  well,  then,  since  I  can't  escape.  .  .  . 
But  you  weren't  exactly  telling  the  truth  when  you 
said  that  you  wouldn't  force  on  me  anything  I 
didn't  want,  were  you?  " 

Carleton  looked  at  her  straight  for  a  long  mo- 
ment, then  asked  quietly:  "Do  you  really  not 
want  it?" 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  said  faintly:  "It 
isn't  only  a  question  of  what  I  want,  but  of  what  I 
can  have.  ...  I  am  thinking  that  I  have 
made  a  great  mistake.  I  told  you  that  I  was  uncer- 
tain— but  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  anything 
at  all.  ...  It  is  all  too  horrible." 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  shivering.  Carle- 
ton  sat  down  beside  her  and  tried  to  draw  her 
hands  away,  but  she  resisted.  Suddenly  she  turned 
and  flung  herself  face  downward  on  the  rock,  and 
began  to  weep  piteously. 

"  Clara  !  Clara !  "  he  cried,  half-distractedly. 
"  Don't  do  that !  For  Heaven's  sake,  stop,  my 

31? 


The  Eternal  Spring 

poor  darling!  I  won't  say  anything  more;  I'll 
go  away — anything  you  say — !  Don't,  you  tear 
my  heart!  My  poor,  poor  little  girl!  .  .  . 
Oh,  Clara,  forgive  me!  .  .  ." 

He  almost  sobbed  himself  in  his  alarm  and 
repentance,  and  knelt  by  her,  making  futile  efforts 
to  raise  her,  to  catch  sight  of  her  face.  She  shrank 
away  from  him,  but  presently  sat  up  and  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  face,  still  hiding  from  him 
all  but  a  reddened  cheek  and  a  disordered  chev- 
elure. 

"  Now,  see  what  I  have  done — made  myself  a 

spectacle — supposing  anyone  comes and  what 

will  Francesca  think?  "  Her  voice  was  trembling 
and  plaintive,  and  Carleton's  heart  melted  within 
him. 

"  Forgive  me,  dearest,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  distress  you — I  had  no  idea  you  would 
feel  in  this  way.  All  I  wanted  to  do,  Clara,  was 
to  show  you  that  there  is  absolutely  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  marry  me  to-morrow,  if  you  care  to 
for  me.  There  is  nothing,  nothing  on  earth  that 
matters,  that  ought  to  matter,  except  your  feeling 
for  me.  .  .  .  Much  as  I  love  you,  I  would 


"Glancing  back,  he  saw  her  waver  and  sink  down  again  upon 
the  rock." 


The  Eternal  Spring 

not  marry  you  unless  you  did  care  for  me.  .  .  . 
I  would  not  dare — for  I'm  not  good  enough  for 
you,  unless  you're  unreasonable  enough  to  think 
me  good.  But  I  know  that  I  shall  never  be  happy 
unless  I  marry  you.  I  know  that  you  can  be  the 
whole  world  to  me — if  you  will." 

Clara  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  said  faintly,  "  I'm  afraid  I 
can't.  I  don't  dare." 

"  Don't  say  that,  my  dearest " 

"  Yes — I  must  say  it.  You  know — about  me, 
don't  you?  You  know  about  my  father " 

"  Clara,  that's  what  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about ! 
I'm  convinced  that  you're  deluding  yourself,  or 
have  been  deluded.  It  isn't  as  you  may  think,  my 
dear  one — all  that  can't  affect  you " 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  does,  it  does !  Sometimes 
I  think  it's  all  a  delusion,  sometimes  I  don't  believe 
in  it,  and  I  try  to  go  on  as  if  it  weren't  there.  And 
then  it  comes  back  and  crushes  me !  I  can't  act  as 
if  the  thing  had  no  existence,  and  if  it  has " 

"  Clara !  Clara,  listen  to  me !  "  he  cried  pas- 
sionately. "  I  believe  firmly  that  it  has  no  exist- 
ence. I'll  tell  you  my  reasons — I'm  sure  that  I  can 


The  Eternal  Spring 

prove  to  you — there  isn't  one  chance  in  a  mil- 
lion  " 

She  pulled  her  hand  from  his  clasp  and  sprang 
to  her  feet.  He  rushed  on : 

"  But  if  it  were  the  other  way  I  should  love  you, 
want  you,  just  as  I  do  now.  I  want  you,  you,  no 
matter  what  misfortune  or  danger  may  come.  And 
I  can  take  care  of  you,  Clara.  Your  life  shall  be 
peaceful — I  hope  happy.  And  there  shall  be  no 
risk — to  any  besides  ourselves.  .  .  ." 

She  stood  with  her  face  averted  from  his.  Her 
breast  heaved  in  a  silent  sob. 

"  Will  you  leave  me  to  myself  now?  "  she  whis- 
pered. 

Carleton  took  her  cold  hand  and  kissed  it,  and 
went  away  deeper  into  the  wood.  Glancing  back, 
he  saw  her  waver  and  sink  down  again  upon  the 
rock. 


320 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  dance  that  night  at  the  Casino  was  a 
livelier  affair  than  usual.  There  were 
almost  a  dozen  dancing  men,  and  not 
more  than  two-score  girls  sitting  demurely  round 
the  walls  under  the  chaperonage  of  their  mamas. 
The  large  room,  in  the  Empire  style,  with  much 
white  enamel,  gilding,  and  red  velvet,  looked  quite 
gay  when  Carleton  went  into  it,  about  ten  o'clock. 
The  women  were  all  in  high  dresses  and  hats,  Con- 
tinental fashion;  but  when  they  were  not  dressed 
in  white  it  was  pink,  or  red;  so  that  they  looked 
like  a  mass  of  roses  or  poppies  in  the  brilliant  white 
and  gold  setting. 

Carleton  looked  about  for  the  particular  group 
to  which  at  these  affairs  he  attached  himself,  his 
custom  being  to  sit  most  of  the  time  beside  Mrs. 
Langham,  to  talk  to  Clara  when  she  came  to  rest 
between  dances,  and  to  order  their  carriage  for 
them  when  they  were  ready  to  go.  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham  did  not  dance ;  it  did  not  suit  her  style.  She 

321 


The  Eternal  Spring 

visibly  preferred  having  her  dancing,  like  other 
forms  of  exertion,  done  for  her.  Carleton  saw  her 
now  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  sitting  in  state. 
She  was  by  far  the  handsomest,  the  most  striking 
woman  in  the  room.  She  had  a  man  on  either  side 
of  her,  and  she  was  talking,  with  her  indolent,  half- 
insolent  look  of  patronage.  Carleton  did  not 
approach  her,  but  stood  aside,  looking  among  the 
dancers  for  Clara.  She  was  not  on  the  floor.  Then 
he  glanced  along  the  walls,  from  one  white-robed 
girl  to  another.  He  saw  Francesca  just  rising  and 
gliding  into  the  waltz  with  the  stout  Sir  Anthony. 
Francesca  danced  exceedingly  well,  Sir  Anthony 
incredibly  badly.  Francesca  danced  like  an  Ameri- 
can girl,  with  an  easy  and  graceful  lightness,  Sir 
Anthony  like  an  Englishman  who  despises  dancing. 
He  made  a  few  solemn  turns  with  her,  revolving 
incessantly  and  ponderously ;  then  they  gave  it  up. 
Francesca  cast  a  sparkling  glance  at  Carleton  as 
she  passed  him.  She  was  looking  very  well,  in  an 
ivory-coloured  dress.  She  sat  down  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  room,  where  Carleton  now  per- 
ceived the  Contessa,  engaged  in  a  rapid  conversa- 
tion with  another  Italian  dowager.  He  started, 

322 


The  Eternal  Spring 

skirting  the  wall,  to  go  and  speak  to  them.  More 
people  were  dancing  now.  He  noticed  a  peculiarly 
graceful  girl  in  a  red  dress  and  hat  dancing  toward 
him.  Something  familiar  about  her  motion  fixed 
his  eye ;  and  as  she  turned  he  saw  that  it  was  Clara. 
She  whirled  past  without  noticing  him.  She  was 
dancing  with  Malvini.  Carleton  stood  still  and 
watched  her,  quite  stunned  by  her  appearance. 

He  had  never  seen  her  before  dressed  in  any- 
thing but  white.  This  startling  poppy-red  garb 
was  anything  but  beautiful,  and  it  completely 
changed  her  look.  Her  hair  was  done  differently, 
too — more  closely,  more  formally;  and  the  red 
tulle  hat  poised  on  her  head  in  perfectly  conven- 
tional lines  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  thing  she 
was  used  to  wear,  nor  that  suited  her  style.  She 
looked  now  quite  stamped  with  conventionality, 
quite  like  one  of  the  correct  damsels  who  lined  the 
walls,  except  that  she  had  an  animation  that  they 
lacked.  She  was  almost  too  animated.  She  was 
much  less  beautiful  than  usual,  but  more  brilliant. 
She  danced  with  a  touch  of  abandon.  It  seemed 
almost  as  though  she  wanted  to  make  herself  con- 
spicuous; if  she  did,  she  was  succeeding. 

323 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Malvini  was  certainly  conspicuous  among  the 
men.  He  was  the  only  one  who  danced  well, 
and  he  was  by  far  the  best-looking.  He  had 
a  brutal  kind  of  beauty — the  low  brow,  crisp,  black 
hair  and  bull-neck  of  a  Roman  of  the  decadence. 
He  was  talking  to  Clara  while  they  danced,  look- 
ing at  her  constantly,  and  smiling  slightly.  They 
went  on  dancing  till  the  music  stopped;  then  Clara 
went  to  her  mother's  wing,  and  Malvini  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  they  talked  during  the  interval. 
And  when  another  waltz  began  they  rose  and 
danced  that  through  also. 

Carleton  had  been  noticed  only  by  a  nod  as  she 
passed  him.  He  did  not  approach  her,  but  sat 
down  beside  Francesca,  trying  to  keep  his  eyes  off 
the  figure  in  red,  and  talking  mechanically.  In  a 
few  moments,  while  Clara  was  dancing,  Mrs. 
Langham  rose,  shook  off  her  cavaliers  brusquely, 
and  sailed  across  the  room  to  the  Contessa.  Thus, 
when  Clara  came  back  at  the  end  of  the  waltz  with 
Malvini,  they  were  all  together.  Clara  took  the 
seat  at  her  mother's  side,  and  Malvini  a  chair  next 
to  Clara.  The  two  were  talking  rapidly  in  Ital- 
ian, and  Carleton  was  conscious  of  trying  vainly 

324 


The  Eternal  Spring 

to  follow  their  conversation  through  his  own  with 
Francesca.  Without  looking  directly  at  Clara, 
he  was  conscious,  also,  of  every  slight  motion  she 
made,  of  each  glance  she  gave  the  man  she  was 
talking  to.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never 
seen  her  try  so  obviously  to  please.  She  had  never 
seemed  so  conscious  of  herself.  She  was  showing 
herself  off  for  Malvini's  admiration,  and  his 
admiration  was  so  obvious  that  it  appeared  to 
Carleton  almost  insulting.  A  gnawing  pain,  a 
deadening  sense  of  disillusionment  and  disgust 
grew  and  strengthened  within  him.  He  made  an 
effort  to  concentrate  his  attention  on  Francesca; 
and  he  did  concentrate  on  her  an  intense  gaze — a 
blue  glow  that  reflected  the  mounting  flame  of  his 
anger. 

Francesca  got  him  on  the  floor  for  the  next 
dance,  which  was  a  quadrille.  Every  man  in  the 
room  was  impressed  for  the  occasion,  and  Carle- 
ton's  protests  that  he  could  not  dance  a  quadrille 
any  more  than  a  waltz  were  unavailing.  Clara 
was  carried  off  immediately.  Francesca  was  dan- 
cing with  Malvini,  and  Carleton  found  himself 
standing  next  them  with  the  Contessa.  He  was 

325 


The  Eternal  Spring 

pushed,  and  pulled,  and  beckoned  through  the 
various  figures  of  the  dance ;  and  each  moment  he 
felt  a  deeper  and  more  consuming  sense  of  his  own 
folly  and  of  the  general  foolishness  of  the  universe. 

Mercifully  it  came  to  an  end  at  last.  He  took 
the  Contessa  to  her  seat,  and  was  received  with 
frank  hilarity  by  Mrs.  Langham,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  mocking  the  runner's  flying  feet,  though 
not  exactly  with  laughter  sweet. 

"  Bless  me  if  I  ever  saw  such  a  spectacle!  "  she 
cried.  "  You  look  like  a  mute  at  a  funeral.  You 
take  your  pleasure  sadly,  Carleton!  Pray,  don't 
let  anyone  tempt  you  into  that  sort  of  thing  again. 
Really,  you  haven't  the  figure  for  it." 

The  Contessa  patted  her  partner's  arm  consol- 
ingly. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  has  much  grace,"  she  observed. 
"  He  has  the  grace  to  oblige  an  old  woman." 

"  Oh,  all  the  grace  in  the  world,"  returned  Mrs. 
Langham;  "  except  the  kind  you  use  in  dancing." 

A  rapid  polka  followed,  and  Carleton  saw  Clara 
whirled  off  again  by  Malvinl.  He  saw  that  Mrs. 
Langham  was  watching  them,  with  a  growing 
anger  smouldering  in  her  cold,  black  eyes.  He 

326 


The  Eternal  Spring 

saw  that  many  other  glances,  critical,  amused,  sig- 
nificant, followed  those  two  figures,  the  most  strik- 
ing on  the  floor.  Many  a  dowager  raised  her 
lorgnette  as  they  passed,  and  among  these  was  the 
Marchesa  Malvini,  a  high-nosed  lady  in  a  stiff 
aureole  of  white  hair,  who  also  raised  her  eye- 
brows, and  her  shoulders,  and  said  something 
obviously  unpleasant  to  the  daughter  who  sat 
next  her. 

Clara  fairly  romped  through  this  dance — grace- 
fully, it  is  true,  but  still  with  a  gaiety  and  freedom 
too  pronounced  for  the  taste  of  the  spectators. 
Carleton  sat,  trying  to  make  conversation  with  the 
Contessa,  but  watching  perforce  Clara's  flying 
skirts ;  watching,  also,  the  storm  gathering  behind 
Mrs.  Langham's  black  brows. 

When  the  music  stopped  and  Clara  came  back 
to  her  mother's  side,  Carleton  heard  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham  say,  in  a  low  voice,  but  distinctly: 

"  You  will  sit  out  the  next  dance  here  with  me, 
and  then  we  shall  go  home." 

Clara  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes 
were  sparkling,  her  face  full  of  colour.  She  was 
panting  lightly. 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  No,  I  have  all  the  other  dances  engaged.  I 
can't  go,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  know  I  never  stay  after  eleven." 

"  Contessa  Rasolli  will  take  me  home." 

"  I  wish  you  to  go  with  me,  Clara.  You  are 
making  yourself  too  conspicuous." 

Clara's  eyes  flashed. 

"  You  know  what  people  will  say  if  you  take 
me  away  now." 

Mrs.  Langham  bit  her  lip.  "  You  show  a  great 
deal  of  regard  for  what  people  say!  "  she  retorted 
savagely. 

Carleton  heard  and  wished  to  hear  only  the  first 
sentence  of  this  conversation.  Francesca  and  her 
mother  were  both  talking  to  him  animatedly;  and 
the  other  two  sunk  their  voices  so  as  to  be  inaudible 
to  anyone.  What  they  were  saying  could  not  be 
guessed  from  their  faces.  Clara  was  still  smiling; 
Mrs.  Langham  now  looked  a  shade  more  indiffer- 
ent than  usual. 

The  outcome  was  plain,  however.  Clara  refused 
to  go.  And  after  the  next  waltz — which  Clara 
danced  and  Malvini  sat  out  beside  Mrs.  Langham 
— that  lady  rose  to  depart.  What  was  the  tenor 

328 


The  Eternal  Spring 

of  her  conversation  with  Malvini  did  not  appear, 
except  that  he  had  done  the  talking  and  she  had 
snubbed  him.  When  he  offered  to  take  her  out  to 
the  carriage,  she  turned  her  shoulder  on  him  and 
took  Carleton's  arm. 

Meantime  Carleton  had  spoken  to  Clara,  for 
the  first  time  that  night. 

"  You  are  not  going  yet?  "   he  asked. 

"  No,  I  shall  stay  a  little  longer  with  Francesca." 

She  looked  at  him  with  bright,  impenetrable 
eyes,  and  caught  Francesca's  hand  nervously, 
caressingly,  in  both  hers. 

"  Good-night,  then,"  he  said,  putting  out  his 
hand. 

"You  are  going?  But,  of  course,  it  must  be 
stupid  for  you.  Addio." 

Her  gloved  fingers  barely  touched  his,  her  eyes 
barely  met  his. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  morning?  "  he  half 
stammered.  "I  .  .  .  may  be  going  away 
in  the  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry.  But  I  have — I  can't  prom- 
ise for  the  morning." 

He  looked  at  her     .     .     . 
329 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Mrs.  Langham's  hand  touched  his  arm.  He 
turned  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

When  he  had  put  Mrs.  Langham  into  her  car- 
riage and  said  a  brief  good-night,  Carleton  walked 
up  the  hill  to  the  hotel,  and  packed  a  bag;  and 
early  the  next  morning  he  left  Bagni. 

His  impulse  of  flight  carried  him  only  as  far  as 
Pisa,  where  in  a  small  and  quiet  inn  he  was  for 
three  days  alone  with  his  reflections.  He  had  left 
no  address  at  Bagni,  no  word  for  anyone  that  he 
was  going. 

At  first  he  did  not  reflect  at  all,  but  simply  felt — 
a  tumultuous  sense  of  wrong  and  pain.  Then,  as 
the  storm  subsided,  he  realised  that  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  knew  what  loneliness  meant.  He 
was  unutterably,  unbearably  lonely ;  empty  of  any- 
thing that  could  interest  or  sustain  him.  Even 
torment  was  better  than  this;  and  he  began  to 
think  of  going  back. 

He  had  never  for  a  moment  meant  not  to  go 
back.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  give  Clara 
up.  He  felt  sure  of  her.  But  he  was  angry  with 
her,  furious  at  what  seemed  to  him  her  lack  of 

330 


The  Eternal  Spring 

reason,  her  perfect  lack  of  consideration  for  him. 
She  had  treated  him  as,  he  vowed,  she  should  never 
treat  him  again. 

This  mood  passed.  His  anger  died  away,  and 
he  began  to  think.  He  went  out  and  rambled 
about  the  city  in  solitary  musing;  he  spent  hours 
in  the  Campo  Santo,  or  watching  the  flow  of  the 
river.  With  every  hour  the  desire  to  return  to 
Clara  grew  stronger.  His  brooding  meditations 
lost  their  bitterness  and  took  on  the  look  of  hope. 
He  smiled  as  he  remembered  a  sentence  of  Goethe : 
"  The  boy  Cupid  clings  fast  to  the  skirts  of  Hope, 
even  when  she  is  preparing  with  long  strides  to 
depart."  This  was  not  the  picture  of  his  state! 
His  love  was  no  longer  the  infant,  needing  Hope's 
support,  but  full-grown,  lusty,  strong  with  every 
ounce  of  his  own  strength ;  stronger,  indeed,  than 
he  was !  He  confessed  now  that  he  took  strength 
from  his  love — that  it  gave  him  back  his  confidence 
in  himself  and  in  life.  But  Hope,  of  course,  had 
not  deserted  him  for  a  moment;  only,  perhaps, 
averted  her  face. 

As  his  calmness  returned  he  began  to  see  excuses 
for  Clara;  he  began  to  think  his  own  impetuosity 


The  Eternal  Spring 

foolish  and  to  regret  it.  She  had  misunderstood 
him,  he  thought,  or  she  had  misunderstood  life. 
She  was  afraid  of  both — and  yet  she  loved  both ! 
Or  if  she  did  not  absolutely  love  him  as  yet,  he 
was  sure  she  would — he  was  determined  she 
should. 

Still,  her  behaviour  with  Malvini  remained  a 
sore  wound  to  him.  He  could  not  understand  that. 
She  had  professed  to  him  that  she  disliked  the 
young  Italian,  disliked  his  coming  to  the  house,  his 
intimacy  with  her  mother.  She  had  never  before, 
so  far  as  Carleton  knew,  shown  any  interest  in 
Malvini;  yet  she  had  tried  that  night  to  capture 
his  interest,  and  had  certainly  succeeded.  She  had 
behaved  recklessly,  going  beyond  what  even  her 
natural  coquetry  would  account  for.  Why  had  she 
done  this — made  herself  conspicuous  with  Mal- 
vini— doubly  offended  her  mother — if  it  was  not  to 
hurt  him,  Carleton  ?  And  if  she  wanted  to  hurt  him, 
to  affront  him,  still  she  need  not  have  behaved  so 
as  to  draw  down  upon  herself  the  hostile  criticism 
which  was  perpetually  suspended  over  their  heads, 
hers  as  well  as  her  mother's,  and  on  her  mother's 
account.  Carleton  was  as  sensitive  to  that  criticism 

332 


The  Eternal  Spring 

of  her,  to  that  attitude  of  potential  hostility  toward 
her,  as  she  herself  could  possibly  be.  It  had  hurt 
him  to  see,  in  the  little  clique  of  people  at  Bagni, 
the  inevitable  trace  of  it.  Two  women  going 
about — without  adequate  protection  or  money 
enough  to  supply  it — with  the  breath  of  scandal 
hanging  about  them — yes,  that  was  the  situation! 
Friendly  as  some  of  those  people  were  to  Clara, 
none  of  them  liked  Mrs.  Langham;  and  Clara 
was  made  to  pay  for  her  mother's  faults.  Was  it 
this  that  made  her  break  out — shock  them?  Was 
it  impatience  of  them,  anger  at  them?  In  a  way 
he  could  understand  that;  but  still  it  did  not  explain 
Clara's  behaviour  to  him. 

That  was  the  point:  Did  she  after  all  think  of 
throwing  him  over?  Her  effort  to  avoid  him,  her 
emotion  when  he  asserted  his  claim,  pointed  that 
way.  She  had  denied  that  he  had  any  claim.  But 
her  emotion  meant  something  else,  too.  It  must 
mean  that  she  cared  for  him. 

When  he  had  come  to  this  conclusion — and  all 
roads  led  to  it — he  forgot  the  rest.  It  was  in- 
finitely true,  as  he  had  said  to  her,  that  nothing  else 
mattered. 

333 


The  Eternal  Spring 

He  telegraphed  to  Bagni  to  have  his  mail  for- 
warded, and  he  wrote  to  Clara — a  long  letter, 
passionate  and  tender.  He  was  determined  now  to 
carry  her  away  with  him  at  once — as  far  away  as 
possible,  where  in  a  new  place  she  could  forget  all 
that  was  unhappy  in  her  experience.  He  would  take 
her  home — back  to  the  big  sordid  living  city  that 
he  thought  he  had  forsaken  forever!  Its  throb- 
bing struggle  called  him  now,  drew  him  by  the 
pulse  of  his  new  life.  He  forgot  its  ugliness; 
now  he  saw  it  only  as  the  one  spot  on  earth  where 
he  had  a  definite  place,  a  definite  work.  And  with 
Clara — flower  of  all  charm ! — beside  him,  he  could 
go  back  to  that  work  with  muscles  strung,  he  could 
hew  out  there  something  that  would  interest  her 
too! 

*  •  •  •»  • 

Among  the  letters  forwarded  to  him  he  found 
one  from  Elizabeth,  one  from  America  in  a  hand 
he  did  not  recognise,  and  a  note  written  at  the  hotel 
in  Bagni.  He  let  the  two  letters  lie  unopened  and 
eagerly  read  the  note,  which  was  from  Fran- 
cesca. 


334 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"DEAR  MR.  CARLETON  : 

"  Perhaps  I  am  meddling,  and  you  may  think  me  wrong  to 
write  this,  but  nevertheless  I  write! 

"  Clara  is  very  unhappy.  Some  of  the  reasons  I  know,  the  rest 
I  guess.  I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you:  Malvini  has  been  sent 
away  by  his  family.  They  had  no  desire  that  he  should  marry  a 
girl  without  fortune.  It  suddenly  appeared  to  the  Marchesa  that 
he  was  compromising  himself  not  with  the  mother  but  with  the 
daughter!  I  could  not  have  believed  that  Clara  could  scheme 
like  that,  but  she  has  done  what  she  wished,  to  get  rid  of 
Malvini.  She  tells  me  her  mother  will  not  speak  to  her. 

"  Poor  Clara !  There  is  much  more  that  she  tells  me,  but  not 
in  words. 

"  If  we  do  not  see  you  soon,  I  shall  know  that  I  have  made  a 
mistake  to  write — but  no  one  else  shall  know  it." 

Carleton  would  have  taken  the  next  train  for 
Bagni,  but  that  he  counted  on  a  letter  from  Clara. 
He  had  told  her  that  he  would  wait  for  her  reply, 
and  he  had  to  wait  a  day  for  it.  He  had  not,  how- 
ever, promised  that  he  would  abide  by  what  she 
should  say,  otherwise  this  reply  might  have  forced 
him  to  break  once  more  the  letter  of  a  promise  to 
her. 

"  DEAR  BARRY: 

"  Your  letter  is  a  beautiful  one  and  I  shall  keep  it  as  long  as  I 
can.  It  hurts  me,  though,  because  it  is  so  much  kinder  and 
sweeter  than  I  deserve,  and  if  it  makes  me  feel  too  unhappy  I 

335 


The  Eternal  Spring 

shall  have  to  destroy  it.  I  can't  bear  more  than  a  certain  amount 
of  unhappiness,  and  that  is  why  I  am  writing  you  now,  to  say 
that  I  can't  see  you  again — or  not  for  a  long  time,  at  least,  not 
till  all  this  is  forgotten.  I  am  less  unhappy  when  I  don't  think 
anything  about  happiness,  or  at  least  don't  try  for  it.  In  that 
way  I  sha'n't  make  anyone  else  wretched,  anyway — and  that  is 
something.  What  I  could  not  bear  is  to  feel  that  I  was  making 
someone  else  as  unhappy  as  I  am  myself.  You  will  think  very 
badly  of  me,  I  suppose,  for  a  time  at  least,  and  perhaps  you 
will  be  unhappy  for  a  time,  but  that  is  better  than  being  so 
always — and  so  sometime  I  think  you  will  say  that  I  was  right 
— right  in  the  end,  in  ending  this,  however  wrong  I  was  in 
beginning  it.  I  know  that  I  was  very  wrong,  and  I  have  no 
excuse,  except  that  I  honestly  hoped  for  a  time  that  it  would  be 
possible. 

"  But  it  isn't  possible.  You  know  my  father  died  insane  and 
heaven  knows  what  may  come  out  in  me.  It  must  die  with  me, 
at  all  events.  The  more  I  care  for  you,  the  more  sure  I  am  that 
I  dare  not  give  you  such  a  burden.  It  wouldn't  make  mine 
lighter  if  you  shared  it,  but  a  thousand  times  heavier.  So,  you 
see,  for  your  sake  and  mine  too,  it  can't  be. 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  out  now — I  have  thought  of  nothing  else 
all  these  days — and  now  I  see  more  clearly  than  I  ever  did 
before.  I  am  glad  you  went  away — it  is  easier  to  write,  and 
besides  your  going  helped  me  to  see  more  clearly.  You  never 
could  bear  with  me,  you  see,  even  my  ordinary  faults,  and  yet 
you  are  patient  too— you  have  been  very  good  to  me. 

"  Good-bye — good-bye,  and  forgive  me — not  for  this,  but  for 
what  I  did  before.  CLARA." 


336 


CHAPTER   XX 

A  the  leisurely  afternoon  train  climbed  the 
long  slope  toward  the  hills,  stopping  at 
an    infinity    of    small    stations    and    not 
thinking  it  worth  while  to  get  up  speed  between, 
Carleton  remembered  his  unread  letters,  and  took 
them  out  of  his  bag. 

Elizabeth's  was  written  from  her  English  coun- 
try house.  It  was  a  long  letter,  in  pensive  linger- 
ing mood.  It  had  an  autumnal  flavour.  It  had 
the  feeling  of  a  long  still  autumn  afternoon,  with 
falling  leaves,  pale  misty  sunshine;  with  a  quiet 
undercurrent  of  sadness,  regret,  resignation. 

This  was  the  first  word  he  had  had  from  her 
since  their  parting;  and  its  sweetness,  with  the  little 
tang  of  sharpness  that  she  could  not  help  putting 
in,  half-relieved,  half-pained  him.  She  wrote  of 
her  pursuits,  literary  and  social;  of  the  Blandons 
and  Mr.  Harris,  who  were  settled  in  her  neighbour- 

337 


The  Eternal  Spring 

hood;  and  Carleton  learned  that  Mr.  Harris  had 
gone  direct,  instead  of  lingering  in  Italy  as  he  had 
proposed. 

Proposed?  What  might  not  Mr.  Harris  have 
proposed  and  Elizabeth  agreed  to,  by  this  time? 
This  gently  melancholy  letter,  with  its  hint  of 
reminiscence  of  the  warm  summer,  its  hinted  fore- 
cast of  chill  winter,  might  be  her  way  of  prepar- 
ing the  announcement  he  expected.  He  was  con- 
scious of  grudging  Elizabeth  to  Mr.  Harris.  It 
was  not  that  he  did  not  want  her  to  be  happy  and 
consoled;  but  of  course  that  he  did  not  think  Mr. 
Harris  good  enough.  If  she  could  be  consoled 
by  him 

The  opening  of  the  other  letter  put  Elizabeth 
out  of  his  head.  There  was  a  brief  note  from 
Forbes,  the  man  to  whom  he  had  written  at  Wash- 
ington, asking  for  information  about  Charles 
Langham.  Forbes  wrote  from  some  place  in  the 
mountains.  He  had  not  known  Langham,  but  he 
knew  a  lady  who  had  known  everybody  in  Balti- 
more for  the  last  forty  years,  and  he  enclosed  a 
letter  from  her  and  said  that  Carleton  might  write 
her  direct  if  he  wished.  This  was  the  letter,  writ- 

338 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ten  with  extreme  care  and  in  the  precise  delicate 
hand  of  an  elder  generation : 

"Remember  Charles  Langham?  Indeed,  my  dear  Mr.  Forbes, 
I  do,  as  anyone  must  who  ever  knew  him.  And  I  knew  him 
well.  His  mother,  though  older  than  I,  was  an  intimate  friend. 
I  was  present  at  his  wedding.  I  knew  his  romance.  Indeed  I 
knew  him  from  the  time  he  came  home  from  college,  at  twenty. 
He  was  married  at  twenty-two.  And  let  me  say  now  that  I 
shall  never  for  one  instant  believe  that  he  was  insane,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  that  word.  I  know  his  family-history  well  on 
both  sides.  There  never  was  a  whisper  of  anything  wrong.  His 
father  was  killed  in  the  War  of  Secession.  His  mother  died  a 
few  years  since.  She  had  been  a  remarkably  strong  woman 
up  to  the  time  of  the  tragedy,  but  she  never  recovered  from  that. 
He  was  her  only  son,  he  was  idolised.  Mrs.  Langham  showed 
me  the  letter  she  wrote  to  her  son's  widow,  offering  to  take  the 
child  and  bring  her  up;  it  was  returned  unanswered. 

"  Is  it  reasonable  to  say  that  a  man  of  unblemished  history, 
with  a  brilliant  college-record,  a  favourite  in  society,  and,  young 
as  he  was,  already  noted  in  his  native  city  for  his  talent  as  an 
orator  and  his  grasp  of  public  questions — is  it  possible  to  think 
that  such  a  man,  against  whom  there  was  never  a  breath  up  to 
the  time  of  the  tragedy,  could  be  mentally  unsound  to  the  extent 
of  cherishing  a  delusion  which  cost  two  lives?  Is  it  not  more 
natural  to  believe  that  he  was  temporarily  maddened  by  the  dis- 
cover}' of  treachery  in  the  woman  he  (however  foolishly)  adored? 
Any  man  of  spirit  might  be  so  maddened  by  such  a  discovery — 
much  more  a  man  of  Charles  Langham's  passionate  tempera- 

339 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ment.  This,  I  shall  always  believe,  is  the  true  explanation  of  his 
terrible  act.  That  Augusta  was  innocent,  and  he  a  maniac,  ia 
what  no  one  will  credit  who  knew  them  both. 

"  I  knew  Augusta  slightly.  She  was  a  reigning  belle  in  Balti- 
more for  two  years  before  her  marriage.  She  was,  of  course, 
extraordinarily  beautiful.  But  I  was  never  attracted  to  her,  even 
though  Charles  begged  me  to  like  her,  for  his  sake.  She  cared 
nothing  for  women  and  would  make  no  effort  to  please  them. 
She  had  a  great  many  suitors,  some  more  brilliant  in  fortune 
than  Charles,  but  none  so  personally  brilliant.  He  swept  her 
off  her  feet;  he  had  all  the  gifts  that  women  love.  He  was  an 
ideal  lover.  I  shall  never  forget  the  scene  at  their  wedding, 
when  they  stood  together  after  the  ceremony  and  he  bent  to  kiss 
her.  It  seemed  that  they  must  be  blessed,  with  youth,  beauty, 
love  for  their  portion. 

"  Well,  we  know  the  result.  Augusta  tired  of  life  in  Balti- 
more, where  a  public  career  was  opening  to  her  husband.  After 
the  birth  of  their  child  they  went  abroad  to  live.  Seven  years 
later,  in  the  prime  of  his  young  manhood,  he  was  dead,  with 
murder  and  suicide  to  answer  for  at  the  bar  of  judgment — 
where,  I  am  certain  she  shall  yet  answer  for  the  heavier  share. 

"  I  loved  Charles  Langham.  He  was  much  beloved.  With  all 
his  impetuosity,  his  quick  temper,  I  never  knew  a  kinder  heart. 
He  had  but  one  serious  fault — he  was  too  easily  ruled  by  those 
he  loved.  He  sacrificed  a  career  to  his  wife's  wish,  he  sacrificed 
all  to  her — and  how  did  she  repay  him?  I  will  not  write  more 
now,  I  feel  too  bitterly.  Even  now,  more  than  twenty  years 
since  I  saw  him  last,  I  weep  when  I  think  of  him.  May  the 
earth  lie  lightly  on  him,  poor  boy! 

"LYDIA  EDGERTON." 

340 


The  Eternal  Spring 

The  formal  phrases  of  this  elderly  lady  gave 
Carleton  the  clearest  picture  he  had  of  Clara's  an- 
tecedents. By  so  much  as  they  cleared  the  pic- 
ture they  raised  his  heart,  elated  him.  The 
shadow  sank  and  died  away — it  was  the  past  his- 
tory of  a  woman's  selfishness,  a  man's  weakness — 
no  more.  The  present  was  once  more  light  to 
him,  and  the  future  full  of  light. 

Clara's  letter,  by  its  spirit,  bade  him  come  and 
take  her  in  spite  of  herself,  and  this  he  meant  to 
do.  Once  more  she  seemed  to  him  all  sweetness, 
all  charm.  He  forgot  the  things  that  had  so 
lately  angered  him.  She  was  to  him  like  a  morn- 
ing landscape :  his  rising  love  struck  with  light  the 
highlands  of  her  nature  and  left  all  else  in  obscur- 
ity. Love  at  its  meridian  would  see  more  clearly, 
and  yet  burn  with  a  deeper  fire. 

He  was  welcomed  back  to  the  hotel  by  Mrs. 
Mallot,  Contessa  Rasolli,  and  Francesca.  After 
dinner  the  Italian  ladies  took  him  up  to  their  little 
sitting-room,  gave  him  coffee,  begged  him  to  light 
his  cigar,  and  Francesca  said : 

"  Clara  will  be  here  soon.  She  spends  her  even- 
ings here  with  us." 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  beamed  on  Carleton  with  a  look  of  happi- 
ness. He  had  already  thanked  her.  He  won- 
dered that  she  should  have  taken  his  cause  so  much 
to  heart;  she  was  going  almost  too  fast. 

"  Perhaps  she  ought  to  know  first  that  I  am 
here,"  he  said.  "  Or  let  me  come  in  later,  if  you 
will." 

"  No,  you  shall  stay  with  me,"  the  Contessa 
said,  laying  her  hand  on  his.  "  And  Francesca 
shall  go  to  meet  our  Clara.  She  will  not  be 
frightened  away  by  you — you  shall  see." 

His  heart  beat  uncomfortably  fast  while  Fran- 
cesca was  gone.  He  could  hardly  attend  to  the 
Contessa's  kindly  chatter.  He  put  his  cigar  down 
unsmoked  and  longed  to  get  up  and  walk  round  the 
room.  It  seemed  an  ominously  long  time  before 
the  two  girls  appeared  at  the  door. 

Clara  came  in,  and  her  eyes,  in  a  wonderful  look, 
pierced  to  that  heart  of  his,  making  it  pound  the 
faster.  She  was  beautiful,  with  the  gold  scarf 
framing  her  pale  face,  that  flushed  at  the  clasp  of 
his  hand  on  hers.  The  two  ladies,  their  hostesses, 
melted  away  into  the  next  room.  Clara  yielded 
both  her  hands,  but  murmured  as  she  looked  up  at 

342 


The  Eternal  Spring 

him  and  the  glittering  drapery  slid  from  her  head 
to  her  shoulders : 

"  This  isn't  right.  .  .  .  You  should  not 
have  come." 

"  It  is  right — the  only  right  thing." 

He  drew  her  with  him  to  the  sofa ;  they  sat  down 
together.  He  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  Clara's 
face,  and  now  he  cried  with  pain,  "  How  tired  you 
look,  dearest — almost  ill!  Have  you  been  ill, 
Clara?" 

"  No — not  exactly.  I  haven't  been  very  happy 
—that's  all." 

"  Haven't  you?  And  what  have  I  been,  do  you 
think?  Oh,  Clara,  you  will  never  drive  me  away 
from  you  again?  " 

"  I — ought  to,"  she  said.  "  I  tried  to — I  did 
mean  to  send  you  away — for  always." 

"  Did  you  think  for  a  moment  you  could?  I 
don't  believe  it.  ...  You  must  altogether 
stop  caring  for  me  first.  .  .  .  And  you  do  care 
a  little?" 

She  looked  at  him;  her  eyes  glowed.  For  the 
first  time  he  felt,  "  She  loves  me!  "  And  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  lips.  ,  ,  ,  She 

343 


The  Eternal  Spring 

drew  away  from  him,  all  rose-colour  now,  glowing, 
with  downcast  eyes. 

"  Do  you  really  want  me,"  she  stammered,  "  in 
spite  of — no,  listen! — in  spite  of  everything?  Do 
you  think  you  could  care  for  me  so  much — much, 
much  more  than  you  pity  me?  Else  I  could 
never " 

Carleton  turned  pale.  "  Don't  you  know?  "  he 
said,  barely  audibly. 

She  still  held  away  from  him,  her  hand  on  his 
breast. 

"  But  still  I  shall  be  unhappy — I  can't  help  it, 
even  if  you -" 

"  No,  you  shall  not  be.  There  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  not  be  happy,  and  you  shall  be !  You 
shall  be  light-hearted,  my  dearest,  I  promise  you, 
and  I  will  sweep  anything  that  troubles  you  out  of 

the  way — /  will  crush  anyone "  he  stopped, 

breathing  hard,  caught  her  to  him,  then  sprang  up. 

"  First  read  this,"  he  said. 

He  had  not  dressed  for  dinner — he  had  the 
letter  in  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat.  Clara  took 
it,  with  a  wondering  look,  and  read  it,  while  he 
paced  about  the  small  room.  Before  she  had 

344 


The  Eternal  Spring 

finished  reading,  the  tears  began  rolling  down  her 
cheeks.  The  sheets  of  the  letter  fell  in  her  lap, 
and  she  hid  her  face  and  wept. 

"  You  see  .  .  ."  Carleton  said.  "  That  is 
the  truth." 

He  knelt  beside  her. 

*  You  know  it  is  the  truth,  don't  you?  "  he  de- 
manded. "  Look  at  me,  Clara.  ...  I  have 
felt  all  along  that  this  was  the  truth  of  the  story. 
I  would  stake  my  life  on  it  now.  It  can't  be  other- 
wise. .  .  .  You  have  been  cheated  out  of  your 
peace  of  mind  so  far,  but  I  swear  you  sha'n't  be 
cheated  any  longer.  It's  a  lie — a  horrible  wilful 
lie  that  has  been  hanging  over  you  all  these  years ! 
You  shall  be  rid  of  it  now.  .  .  ." 

"  But — even  so,"  said  Clara  pitifully,  "  even  if 
we  didn't  believe  in  that  any  longer,  think  what 
there  is  behind  me — think  what  it  means,  all  that 
happened.  ...  I  am  afraid." 

"Afraid  of  what?  You  are  you.  We'll  for- 
get the  rest — all  that  troubled  you." 

He  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them,  and  laid  his 
cheek  on  them,  murmuring  words  of  passionate 
endearment. 

345 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  gently  disengaged  her  right  hand,  and  pull- 
ing at  a  thin  line  of  gold  about  her  neck  drew  out 
a  jewel  suspended  by  it  and  hidden  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress.  It  was  a  tiny  miniature,  set  with 
brilliants  and  pearls.  She  unfastened  the  chain 
and  laid  it  in  Carleton's  hand. 

He  held  it  to  the  light,  studying  the  face — 
young,  bright  in  colour,  brilliant  with  life  and 
spirit.  Unmistakable  was  the  impression  conveyed 
by  this  inch  of  painted  ivory.  Carleton  could  see 
the  man — high  brow,  dark  chestnut  hair,  hazel 
eyes,  sensuous  mouth,  cleft  chin — the  smile,  the 
flash  of  the  eyes,  the  proud  carriage  of  the  head — 
the  likeness,  too,  to  Clara. 

"  He  had  it  done  for  me,"  Clara  said  softly, 
"when  I  was  seven.  He  was  so  sweet  to  me! 
I've  worn  it  always,  ever  since.  I  don't  want  to 
forget  him.  I've  written  down  every  single  thing 
I  remember  of  him,  so  as  not  to  forget.  Even 
that  day,  when  they  took  me  away  and  told  me  he 
was  dead.  And  I  have  grieved  for  him — oh, 
nobody  knows  how  much.  ...  I  did  love 
him  very  dearly — even  a  child  of  eight,  you 
know " 

346 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  took  back  the  miniature,  looked  at  it,  and 
clasped  it  round  her  neck  again.  She  had 
dried  her  tears.  Now  she  looked  at  Carleton 
broodingly. 

'  Think  how  much  it  would  have  meant  to  me 
if  he  had  lived,"  she  said.  "  And  he  knew  it — he 
loved  me  too.  He  must  have  suffered — to  forget 
me — to  take  himself  away  from  me.  He 
could  not  have  done  it,  I  think,  if  he  had  been 
himself." 

"  I  think  so  too — if  he  had  been  calm  and  able 
to  consider.  But  he  was  not — he  was  suddenly 
thrown  from  his  balance.  But  that  means  nothing, 
beyond  the  fact.  Tell  me — you  remember  nothing 
that  could  not  be  so  explained,  do  you?  " 

Clara  shivered.  "  I  remember  that  something 
was  the  matter — that  day.  We  had  been  riding 
together,  he  and  I — I  had  a  little  white  pony — 
and  his  horse  kept  leaping  and  tearing  about,  and 
set  the  pony  off,  so  that  it  ran  away  with  me. 
.  *  .  And  he  would  not  talk  to  me.  .  .  . 
We  had  some  ices  at  the  Casino  and  went  back  to 
the  hotel.  ...  I  remember  the  flowers,  though 
it  was  winter.  .  .  .  And  he  held  me  and  kissed 

347 


The  Eternal  Spring 

me  and  cried  when  he  left  me.  ...  I  was 
waked  up  in  the  night  and  dressed  and  taken  away, 
by  my  governess  and  a  lady  in  the  hotel.  I  didn't 
see  my  mother  for  a  long  time  afterwards.  I  re- 
member that  everyone  looked  scared.  .  .  .  and 
that  I  was  frightened  to  death.  .  .  ." 

Carleton  got  up  and  took  another  restless  turn 
about  the  room.  His  face  wore  its  grimmest  look. 

"Who  told  you?  "he  asked. 

"  Oh,  many  people — my  governess,  the  lady, 
I've  forgotten  her  name — and  my  mother,  not 
then,  but  long  after.  None  of  them  told  me  every- 
thing, of  course,  but  somehow  I  learned  it." 

"  Of  course.    ...    I  wish  I  had  been  there." 

Clara  smiled  tragically.  "  Why,  what  could 
you  have  done?  You  would  have  been  a  nice  boy 
of  about  fifteen !  " 

"  I  would  have  taken  you  up  and  carried  you 
away — away  from  everybody — -as  I  shall  do  now." 

"  Ah — who  knows." 

"  Who  knows  what  ?  That  I  shall  carry  you 
away?  What  do  you  say  to  America — for  a  time 
at  least?  It  will  be  different  from  anything  you've 
known." 

348 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  What  I  say  now  is  that  we  are  keeping  those 
poor  ladies  out  of  their  room  for  a  most  impolitely 
long  time.  I  must  call  them  back." 

She  rose.  A  chill  struck  through  Carle- 
ton. 

"  Clara !  You — for  a  moment  you  frightened 
me.  You  change  so — your  manner  changes — a 
flash  and  you  seem  a  thousand  miles  away!  A 
minute  ago  you  were  near  me,  and  now — how  do 
I  know  what  you  are  thinking!  " 

"  I  am  thinking,"  said  Clara  wearily,  "  that  I 
have  been  made  to  think  too  much.  I  have  been 
made  to  doubt  too  much — to  question  too  much. 
I  doubt  and  question  everything — everybody!  If 
I  am  changeable — and  I  know  I  am  and  can't  help 
it — the  reason  is — what  you  know.  I  have  seen 
too  much — too  much  that  is  sad  and  dreadful — too 
much  of  life.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  I'm  afraid  of 
it?  Of  myself — my  own  moods — my  own 
character — yours  too!  Yes,  I  am  afraid  of 
you!  .  .  ." 

"  Already!    And  a  little  while  ago,  here " 

"Yes,  yes!  .  .  .  But  we  must  not  stay 
longer.  .  .  ." 

349 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Very  well.  I  will  go.  Let  me  take  you  down, 
if  you  are  going  home.  And  I  know  what  I  have 
to  do,  Clara,  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow?  "  She  paused  by  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  other  room. 

'  Your  mother.  I  should  have  talked  to  her 
long  before  this." 

"  But  wait!  First  I  must  be  sure — quite,  quite 
sure.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  or  I  shall  never  be  sure  of  you !  " 

"  But  she — my  mother  will  not  forbid  me.  Her 
consent  is  a  formality." 

"  It  is  not  her  consent  I  want — but  a  good  deal 
more.  Something  that  no  one  has  got  from  her 
before,  I  daresay !  " 

"What     .     .     .     do  you  want?" 
'  The  truth,  simply.    The  truth  about  anything 
that  affects  you." 

"The  truth! —  About? —  But  she  will  never 
answer  you — won't  even  listen  to  you !  " 

"  I  shall  make  her.  Do  you  think  I  can't  see — 
clearly  now — that  it's  a  question  of  your  happiness 
and  mine?  Do  you  think  I'll  let  anything  stand  in 
the  way?  She  shall  answer  me." 

350 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  Oh,  don't —  Barry,  you  forget — you  can't 
treat  her  so " 

"  We  won't  talk  of  it." 

He  stood  pale,  frowning,  set. 

"  Will  you  call  the  Contessa,  please?  I  will  bid 
her  good-night." 

"  But,  I  beg  you,  do  not  think  of  talking  frankly 
to  my  mother !  Only  consider — think  what  it  will 

mean  to  her " 

'  Yes,  and  what  it  means  to  you — and  to  me. 
Oh,  I'm  selfish  enough !  She  must  give  way.  It's 
your  peace  of  mind — and  mine — against  a  tempo- 
rary trouble  to  hers " 

"  But  what  good  will  it  do ?  " 

"  This — that  if  she  has  lied  to  you — and  I 
believe  she  has — she  must  confess  it.  If  she  has 
put  this  fear  of  hereditary  taint  in  your  mind 
because  of  her  own  cowardice,  she  must  say  so  and 
clear  it  away.  Is  that  too  much  to  ask?  " 

"  Too  much— yes,"  said  Clara  faintly.  "  She 
is  my  mother,  after  all." 

"  Yes,  and  you  need  not  fear  I  shall  forget  it.  I 
have  some  ability  to  put  a  thing  clearly,  without 
unnecessarily  wounding.  Trust  me  in  this,  Clara." 

351 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  cannot.    I  can't  tell  you  to  go  to  her." 

"  Then  will  you  promise  me  here  now,  solemnly, 
to  marry  me  within  a  month?  If  you  promise, 
there  is  no  need  now  of  the  other." 

"  I — can't  promise." 

"  No.  Even  now  I  am  losing  you.  .  .  . 
Clara  .  .  .  good-night." 

He  did  not  wait  to  make  his  adieux  to  the  other 
ladies;  Clara  had  that  task  for  him.  Her  face 
struck  them  with  consternation. 


352 


CHAPTER  XXI 

NOW,  at  last,  Carleton  fully  recognised 
what  before  he  had  only  vaguely  appre- 
hended— the  fact  that  Mrs.  Langham 
was  blocking  his  path — Clara's  path — to  happi- 
ness; for  he  had  all  a  lover's  certainty  that  those 
paths  must  be  one.  Not  directly;  for  her  direct 
influence  had  been  thrown,  so  far  as  he  could  see, 
in  his  favour.  But  indirectly,  by  virtue  of  what 
she  had  done  in  the  past,  she  blocked  him.  She 
stood  there  in  the  way  like  some  huge,  malign 
figure  of  stone.  She  cast  a  shadow  on  Clara  which 
threatened  to  be  permanent. 

And  Clara  shadowed,  oppressed,  was  Clara 
uncertain  of  herself,  uncertain  of  all  things.  Well 
might  she  doubt  life  and  her  own  capacity  for  it! 
She  had  had  too  heavy  a  burden,  as  she  said.  The 
sorrow  of  the  world  was  not  a  vague  abstraction, 
as  it  should  have  been,  to  her  youth,  but  a  crushing 
reality.  She  had  been  robbed  of  the  joy  of  youth ; 

353 


The  Eternal  Spring 

it  had  been  almost  crushed  out  of  her  by  the  weight 
that  now  threatened  to  divide  her  from  him.  He 
had  felt  this  night  more  sharply  than  ever  the 
struggle  in  her  mind.  He  thought  he  saw  that  she 
had  really  meant  to  give  him  up.  And,  for  the 
first  time,  fear  invaded  his  soul. 

And  yet  he  felt  now  that  she  loved  him,  even 
with  the  touch  of  passion  that  till  to-night  had  been 
lacking.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  held  herself 
away  from  him,  giving  him  affection,  liking,  confi- 
dence— mutely  promising  more — much  more — but 
still  withholding  it.  But  to-night 

There  was  that  streak  of  wildness  in  her.  There 
was  intensity  and  passion  at  the  bottom  of  all  these 
uncertainties  and  moods  of  hers.  There  was  a  kind 
of  violence  which  might  hurl  her  on  some  desper- 
ately mistaken  course.  Was  he  to  lose  her,  after 
all,  when  she  had  come  to  love  him — not,  perhaps, 
as  he  loved  her,  but  still  with  her  feminine  fire, 
clinging,  poignant,  sweet? 

He  felt  the  fear  that  held  her  back — a  fear  that 
reason  could  dissipate  for  the  time,  but  that  ever 
returned,  formless  and  terrible.  It  was  the  effect 
of  a  habit  of  mind,  fixed  from  her  childhood.  She 

354 


The  Eternal  Spring 

had  been  taught  to  see  herself  in  a  particular  light, 
and  no  effort  of  hers  or  of  others  had  been  able  to 
alter  it  materially.  She  had  seen  herself  marked 
out  as  a  victim  of  fate ;  she  could  not  forget  it. 

'  Taught "  was  too  definite  a  word  for  the 
process,  however.  No  one,  he  was  sure,  had  ever 
definitely  told  her  that  she  was  liable  to  the  fate 
that  had  overtaken  her  father.  Least  of  all  would 
her  mother  say  such  a  thing  to  her.  She  might 
never  have  spoken  to  Clara  on  that  subject.  Never- 
theless, it  was  she  who  had  involved  Clara  in  it, 
had  fixed  the  mark  on  her  and  darkened  her  whole 
life  and  mind. 

And  she  had  done  it  out  of  pure  egotism,  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  undoubtedly  the 
strongest  of  the  instincts  by  which  she  lived. 
Carleton  believed  implicitly  now  in  the  correctness 
of  the  general  view  of  her  and  of  the  tragedy  that 
had  come  about  through  her.  He  did  not  doubt 
that  further  evidence  of  the  sort  given  by  Mrs. 
Edgerton's  letter  could  be  got — further  proof 
against  her.  He  did  not  doubt,  either,  that  she 
could,  if  she  would,  demolish  the  lie  that  she  had 
tried  to  rear  up  as  a  vain  protection  to  herself. 

355 


The  Eternal  Spring 

It  had  not  protected  her;  it  had  only  injured 
Clara. 

She  could  say,  if  she  would,  that  she  had  lied 
about  the  circumstances  of  the  tragedy  and  the 
time  preceding  it;  that  there  was  no  question  of 
homicidal  mania  or  mania  of  persecution;  that  her 
husband  was  under  no  delusion ;  that  her  lover  met 
the  fate  he  had  risked;  and  that  in  the  end  she  was 
responsible  for  the  situation  and  the  result. 

If  she  would  say  this,  she  must  be  believed; 
Clara  must  believe  entirely  what  now  she  half- 
believed.  She  would  be  free.  But  would  Mrs. 
Langham,  in  any  conceivable  circumstances,  admit 
the  truth?  She  must  know  it.  She  could  not,  as 
Elizabeth  had  suggested,  by  dint  of  lying  have 
come  to  believe  herself  in  the  lie.  She  could  not 
really  think  herself  the  innocent  victim  she  wished 
to  appear.  But  if  she  could  be  made  to  see  that  she 
was  injuring  Clara  so  definitely,  so  deeply,  would 
she  be  moved  to  tell  the  truth? 

She  might  have  seen  it,  one  would  think,  before ; 
but  she  had  deliberately  shut  her  eyes.  But  now 
if  it  were  forced  on  her?  She  could  scarcely  be 
withheld  by  the  fear  of  changing  Clara's  feeling 

356 


The  Eternal  Spring 

for  her.  There  was  no  feeling  between  them,  no 
affection ;  only  on  Clara's  side  the  sadness  of  real- 
ising that  there  was  none. 

Mrs.  Langham  was  not  a  person  easy  to  read 
from  cover  to  cover.  In  outline  she  was  legible 
enough.  Carleton  felt  that  he  knew  her  general 
character,  but  not  her  mind.  She  had  never  been 
unreserved  with  him;  there  had  never  been  the 
slightest  approach  to  intimacy.  That  night  at  La 
Fontanella,  when  she  had  talked  to  him  over  her 
late  supper  in  the  library,  was  the  high-water  mark 
of  their  acquaintance.  It  had  never  developed  into 
friendship,  or  liking,  or  even  disliking;  at  least, 
obviously.  Here  at  Bagni  she  had  treated  him  in 
a  casual  way,  but  without  the  formality  due  a 
casual  acquaintance.  She  had  simply  let  him 
alone;  talked  to  him  lightly  when  the  occasion 
demanded  it,  and  that  was  all.  He  felt  that  he 
knew  her  no  better  than  after  the  first  days  at  La 
Fontanella. 

Now  in  imagination  he  tried  to  reconstruct  her, 
not  as  she  appeared  to  him  or  the  world,  but  as  she 
appeared  to  herself.  What  was  her  opinion  of 
herself,  her  justification,  her  theory  of  life?  What 

357, 


The  Eternal  Spring 

philosophy  had  she,  and  what  made  it  worth  while 
for  her  to  dress,  dine,  drive,  and  undergo  the  daily 
portion  of  ennui  which  life  offered  her? 

He  made  allowance,  first,  for  the  fact  that  she 
was  not  a  definitely  reasoning  being,  for  the  pre- 
ponderance of  instinct  in  her,  and  the  strength  of 
the  great  impetus  of  life  that  carries  us  all  on, 
creatures  of  reason  as  well  as  creatures  of  instinct. 
We  live,  not  definitely  because  we  wish  to  live,  but 
because  we  are  alive.  And  if  we  have  a  strong, 
healthy  body,  strong  appetites  and  not  much  of  the 
pale  cast  of  thought,  we  can  live  on  through  cata- 
clysms that  would  wreck  a  reasoning  craft;  we 
rise  on  the  crest  of  the  flood  of  life,  while  the 
feebler  organism  is  submerged.  We  float  and 
feed,  not  too  scrupulously,  and  survive.  We  are 
more  or  less  thick-shelled;  we  resist  the  claims  or 
assaults  of  softer  beings.  We  preserve  ourselves, 
as  comfortably  as  possible.  Well,  there  is  a  phi- 
losophy of  life !  It  was  hers,  undoubtedly. 

Carleton  pictured  her  in  her  youth  by  the  light 
Mrs.  Edgerton  threw — a  great  beauty,  a  belle  in 
a  small  city,  courted,  flattered,  married  in  a  rush 
by  a  man  whose  emotion  carried  her  off  her  feet— 

358 


The  Eternal  Spring 

and  left  him  later  at  her  mercy.  She  ruled  him 
through  his  passion  for  her,  and  perhaps  despised 
him  for  it,  being  incapable  of  a  generous  response. 
Then,  taken  out  of  a  conventional  and  provincial 
society,  plunged  into  the  freedom  of  European  life 
and  manners,  what  wonder  that  she  lost  her  head 
— never  having  had  much  to  begin  with — and 
eventually  went  down?  It  was  fairly  evident  that 
she  had  no  great  love  for  her  husband,  and  that 
she  misjudged  him,  miscalculated  both  his  strength 
and  his  weakness.  That  he  was  weak  in  letting  so 
weak  a  woman  rule  him  was  clear ;  but  he  had  the 
terrible  strength  of  sincere  passion.  She  seemed 
to  have  no  strength  except  her  monumental  selfish- 
ness and  real  indifference  to  other  people.  How 
much  this  was  the  cause  and  how  much  the  effect 
of  the  tragedy  in  her  life  was  a  question.  She  was 
by  nature  cold  and  self-centred;  but  it  was  possible 
that  she  had  loved  Malaspina — as  much  as  she 
could  love. 

Then,  supposing  it  to  have  happened:  the  two 
men  dead  there,  the  scandal,  publicity,  the  glaring 
white  light  turned  on  her  and  forcing  her  to  hide 
herself  in  some  corner,  and  following  her  wherever 

359 


The  Eternal  Spring 

she  turned,  in  whatever  obscurity  she  lived,  even 
to  the  present  day.  She  could  not  but  feel  that, 
and  what  had  been  its  effect  on  her? 

First,  she  had  been  cruelly  punished,  unduly 
punished,  unless  the  price  she  had  to  pay  were 
measured  by  the  amount  of  suffering  she  had 
inflicted.  Langham's  suffering  had  been  more 
than  he  could  bear.  She  had  borne  hers,  and  per- 
haps, given  her  character,  in  the  only  way  she  could 
have  borne  it.  She  had  hardened,  hardened,  till 
she  had  a  thick  shell-armour  enclosing  and  protect- 
ing the  smallest  possible  kernel  of  feeling  sub- 
stance. Or  perhaps  she  had  fossilised  altogether 
and  was  incapable  of  feeling  anything  more,  except 
physical  discomfort. 

Nevertheless,  she  was,  of  all  the  human  beings 
Carleton  knew,  the  least  happy,  the  least  to  be 
envied.  He  realised,  when  he  considered  her  as 
she  now  was,  that  he  was  looking  upon  a  wreck. 
She  painfully  made  herself  look  as  little  like  a 
wreck  as  possible,  she  abstained  from  any  appeal 
to  the  sympathies,  she  kept  to  herself  whatever  she 
did  feel — but  in  spite  of  new  paint  and  shining 
brass  she  was  a  helpless,  rudderless,  unseaworthy 

360 


The  Eternal  Spring 

craft,  fit  only  to  lie  in  harbour  somewhere — and 
she  had  no  harbour. 

Carleton  did  not  wonder  that  she  had  chosen  to 
keep  her  child  to  herself,  when  everything  else  had 
been  swept  away  from  her;  perhaps  it  was  because 
she  cared  for  the  child,  but  in  any  case  she  would 
not  have  given  her  up  to  her  husband's  mother, 
writing  as  that  lady  probably  had  written.  She 
had  kept  Clara,  perhaps,  with  some  idea  of  finding 
a  refuge  in  her.  If  she  had  that  hope,  it  had  been 
completely  disappointed,  and  Carleton  could  not 
think  it  Clara's  fault.  Clara  was  emotional, 
expressive,  needed  affection;  if  her  mother  had 
not  won  her  affection,  the  fault  could  not  lie  with 
the  child.  Either  Mrs.  Langham  had  not  tried  or 
she  had  failed,  for  good  reason,  to  make  Clara 
love  her.  Perhaps  she  had  been  handicapped  from 
the  beginning  by  Clara's  knowledge  and  by  the 
effect  on  her  of  her  father's  death.  A  child  of 
eight,  with  Clara's  temperament,  might  know  and 
feel  enough  to  make  her  not  quite  a  malleable 
substance,  even  supposing  Mrs.  Langham's  hand 
to  have  some  skill.  From  what  Clara  had  said, 
and  Elizabeth,  he  guessed  that  this  was  the  case. 

361 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Clara  had  been  all  these  years  a  critic  of  her 
mother,  unsympathetic,  standing  aloof.  And  that 
it  must  have  been  difficult  for  Mrs.  Langham  to 
live,  even  though  she  were  not  over-sensitive,  in 
that  atmosphere,  Carleton  could  well  believe. 
They  had  lived,  those  two,  with  that  gulf  between 
them  widening  every  year.  They  were  unhappy 
together — why  had  they  not  separated? 

Here  again  he  fell  back  on  Elizabeth's  explana- 
tion. Clara  felt  the  tie  of  duty  to  her  mother,  and 
knew  that  her  presence  was  some  sort  of  protec- 
tion or,  at  least,  check.  Mrs.  Langham  might  be 
suspected  of  a  certain  recklessness.  With  no  ties, 
it  was  hardly  to  be  predicted  what  she  would  do. 
Clara  had  to  some  extent  imposed  her  own  will  on 
her  mother;  and  Mrs.  Langham  had  indemnified 
herself  by  pieces  of  self-indulgence  like  her  flirta- 
tion with  Malvini.  Clara  had  put  an  end  to  that, 
she  was  carrying  things  now  with  a  high  hand,  and 
Carleton  saw  that  this  unnatural  state  of  things 
could  not  continue.  It  was  equally  unfortunate  for 
them  both.  The  natural  end  of  it  was  his  marriage 
with  Clara  and  departure  somewhere  well  out  of 
range  of  Mrs.  Langham. 

362 


The  Eternal  Spring 

It  was  Mrs.  Langham's  desire  to  be  free,  and 
to  see  Clara  married.  She  might,  therefore,  be 
willing  to  sacrifice  something  she  had  hitherto 
thought  essential,  if  she  saw  that  it  stood  in  the 
way  of  Clara's  marriage.  She  might  sacrifice  her 
elaborate  lie. 

It  was  quite  natural,  he  thought,  that  she  should 
have  lied.  It  was  quite  natural,  in  so  complete  a 
catastrophe,  that  she  should  have  tried  to  save  to 
herself  some  warmth  of  excuse,  to  shift  a  burden 
of  blame  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  She  would  not 
think  at  that  moment  of  Clara  or  the  future ;  but 
only  the  terrible  present  would  overwhelm  her  and 
force  her  to  defend  herself.  She  would  snatch  at 
any  weapon.  And  when  she  had  once  taken  up 
that  weapon  she  was  never  permitted  to  lay  it 
down,  she  must  be  forever  on  the  defensive.  Even 
against  Clara — perhaps  more  than  all  against 
Clara — she  must  maintain  it. 

And  she  had  to  a  certain  extent  been  successful. 
She  had  created  a  doubt,  in  face  of  the  evidence 
against  her.  It  was  possible  for  her  friends  to  say 
that  she  was  a  cruelly  wronged  woman.  People  in 
general  might  refuse  her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 

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The  Eternal  Spring 

but  they  had  to  recognise  that  it  existed,  if  only  as 
a  hypothesis.  Elizabeth  apparently  had  not  be- 
lieved in  it,  but  it  had  affected  her.  The  issue  had 
been  confused.  The  Doubt  was  there.  Clara 
stood  in  the  shadow  of  it.  It  stood  between  her 
and  her  lover,  dreadfully  palpable. 

He  came  back  to  this — that  it  must  be  swept  out 
of  the  way,  with  Mrs.  Langham's  aid  or  in  spite 
of  her.  The  first  would  be  difficult  to  manage,  the 
second  more  difficult  still.  But  it  must  be  done 
somehow.  And  he  came  to  the  task  with  more 
comprehension  of  her,  with  more  feeling  for  her, 
as  the  result  of  his  night's  vigil. 

It  was  past  three  o'clock  when  he  thought  of  bed. 
He  had  been  smoking,  walking  about  his  room, 
sometimes  lying  down  with  his  hands  clasped  over 
his  eyes.  The  dawn,  showing  grey  at  the  windows, 
surprised  him.  A  longing  for  fresh  air,  stronger 
than  fatigue,  came  upon  him.  He  went  down- 
stairs and  let  himself  out. 

In  the  silence  and  pale  light  the  great  hills 
seemed  to  lie  like  a  fairy-world  new-made  that 
morning.  The  cold  air  had  a  divine  purity;  and 
the  shapes  of  trees  and  rocks  swam  liquidly  in  it 

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The  Eternal  Spring 

as  if  they  were  still  quivering  from  the  creative 
hand.  The  sun  would  rise  late,  traversing  a  long 
arc  of  sky  before  it  showed  above  the  tops  of  the 
hills;  but  already  at  its  approach  colour  was  wak- 
ing on  the  earth  and  in  the  air. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

EARLY    in    the    forenoon     Carleton    sent 
down  a  note  to  Mrs.   Langham,   asking 
her  to  see  him  some  time  that  day;  and 
in  reply  she  named  the  hour  of  four.     Then  he 
wrote  a  line  to  Francesca,  as  she  with  her  mother 
breakfasted  in  their  rooms,  begging  her  to  take 
Clara  out  of  the  way  for  the  time  between  four 
o'clock  and  the  dinner-hour. 

The  mail  brought  him  this  from  Elizabeth : 

"DEAR  BARRY: 

"  Yesterday  I  had  a  letter  from  Augusta  asking  me  to  advance 
her  some  money,  and  to-day  a  telegram  making  it  more  urgent 
and  I  have  sent  the  money.  She  intends  to  leave  Bagni  and  join 
some  friend — Madame  Marum — at  St.  Moritz,  and  in  the  fall 
to  go  to  Cairo  with  her.  Clara  is  to  be  turned  over  to  the 
Rasollis.  They  have  quarrelled,  Augusta  says,  and  even  Clara 
admits  they  are  better  apart — she  and  her  mother.  Very  likely 
you  know  all  this,  but  I  judge  from  A's  letter  that  you  do  not. 
She  writes  that  she  has  offered  to  come  back  and  be  present  at 
Clara's  marriage  to  you  wherever  it  is  arranged  to  be,  but  that 
Clara  has  given  her  no  definite  information  on  that  point,  and 
you  have  said  nothing.  She  thinks  you  may  come  to  an  agree- 

366 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ment  by  yourselves — and  at  any  rate  it  is  impossible  for  her  to 
stay  at  Bagni  any  longer. 

"  I  can  see  the  situation,  and  what  I  propose  is  this:  Let  Clara 
with  her  maid  come  to  me  here.  A  little  later  you  will  come  on, 
and  you  shall  be  married  from  my  house,  or  in  London,  which- 
ever you  prefer — and  so  get  rid  of  all  the  Continental  red  tape, 
and  perhaps  make  it  easier  for  Clara  in  other  ways.  Augusta 
can  come  on  for  it,  if  you  and  she  wish.  At  any  rate  I  am 
Clara's  relative,  you  know,  and  if  her  mother's  health  doesn't 
permit  her  to  be  here,  the  poor  little  girl  will  be  safe  under  my 
wing.  Send  me  a  line,  or  better  wire  to  say  that  it's  all  right, 
and  I  write  to  Clara  urging  this.  Do  you  urge  it  too.  It  will 
make  me  happier  to  do  this  for  you — will  you  give  me  what 
happiness  you  can  ?  " 

Carleton  put  this  aside  to  be  answered  later, 
with  a  pang  of  gratitude  and  affection  for  the 
writer  of  the  letter,  sweet  and  kind  creature  that 
she  was!  He  saw  Francesca  at  luncheon,  and 
learned  that  Clara  was  to  drive  with  them  to 
Barga,  starting  at  two  and  returning  just  in  time 
for  dinner;  learned,  also,  that  the  arrangement 
had  been  settled  by  which  Clara  was  to  pass  into 
the  Contessa's  care.  Francesca  was  obviously  sur- 
prised that  he  had  not  been  told.  He  could  see 
that  she  was  uneasy,  apprehensive.  Affairs  had 
got  beyond  her  comprehension;  the  air  was  turbid 

36? 


The  Eternal  Spring 

and  portentously  obscure  about  them,  and  she,  too, 
felt  the  electric  tension,  the  imminence  of  storm. 

The  hour  of  siesta  found  him  tired  enough  to 
sleep,  and  he  woke  refreshed.  He  prepared  for 
his  interview  by  putting  into  his  pocket  some  letters 
— those  from  Dr.  Crittenden,  from  Mrs.  Edger- 
ton,  and  finally  Elizabeth's  offering  to  take  Clara; 
and  at  four  o'clock  he  crossed  the  Piazza,  just 
waking  to  life  again  behind  its  shutters,  and 
knocked  at  Mrs.  Langham's  door. 

He  was  shown  into  the  salotto,  where  Clara's 
piano  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  an  air 
of  filling  the  place.  The  prim  chairs  and  sofas 
ranged  round  the  walls  looked  as  comfortless  as 
on  the  first  day.  The  balcony  beyond,  with  its 
awning,  flowers,  easy-chairs  and  tea-table,  seemed 
the  only  habitable  spot. 

Carleton  waited  a  few  moments;  then  Mrs. 
Langham  came  in  and  gave  him  her  hand,  with  a 
smile  almost  friendly.  She  was  looking,  for  her, 
rather  pale  and  tired.  For  once  she  was  not  on 
parade,  she  was  not  on  guard.  Her  loose  violet 
dress  had  a  neglige  air.  She  could  not,  it  struck 
Carleton,  afford  to  be  so  informal,  if  she  wished 

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The  Eternal  Spring 

to  preserve  the  full  effect  of  her  beauty  or  the  illu- 
sion of  youth.  The  texture  of  her  aging  skin  now 
betrayed  itself,  and  certain  faint,  dragging  lines 
about  the  mouth  and  eyes.  And  yet,  he  was  oddly 
conscious  she  had  never  seemed  so  attractive  to 
him;  he  had  never  come  so  near  liking  her.  Her 
manner  of  receiving  him — perhaps  also  those  long 
thoughts  about  her  in  the  night — had  put  him  in  a 
different  attitude  toward  her.  She  offered  him 
tea — he  declined  it,  out  of  nervous  feeling  that  her 
bread  just  now  would  choke  him. 

"Then  will  you  give  me  some?"  she  asked, 
sinking  into  her  low  chair  on  the  balcony.  "  I  am 
really  done  up — packing  and  seeing  to  things.  I 
go  to-morrow  morning,  to  Switzerland.  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you  before  I  go.  I  did  not  know — your 
leaving  so  suddenly — quite  what  to  make  of  it!  " 

She  smiled,  still  in  friendly  fashion,  and  closed 
her  eyes  wearily.  Carleton  gave  her  the  cup 
of  tea. 

"  That's  good  and  strong,"  she  said.  "  I  need 
something  to  wake  me  up.  I  haven't  been  able  to 
sleep  of  late,  and  I've  been  taking  morphine.  This 
air  disagrees  with  me  frightfully — it  is  so  depress- 

369 


The  Eternal  Spring 

ing,  and  this  heat — !  I  could  not  endure  another 
week  of  the  place.  ...  I  am  glad  you  have 
come  back!  " 

"  I  couldn't  have  stayed  away  very  long,"  Carle- 
ton  said. 

He  was  sitting  near  her,  in  a  chair  rather  higher 
than  hers,  so  that  he  looked  down  on  her.  Her 
languid  figure,  in  the  simple  dress  that  pleased  his 
eye  by  its  pure  blue-violet  colour,  and  the  signs  of 
sleeplessness  and  fatigue  in  her  face,  made  her  for 
the  first  time  seem  appealing  to  him.  She  drank 
her  tea  slowly  and  left  the  pause  to  him. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  why  I  went,  and  why  I 
came  back,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  quite  know  why  I 
haven't  talked  to  you  about  it  before— but  we 
seemed  not  much  in  the  way  of  talking." 

"  No.  I  do  not  take  the  usual  parental  pose. 
It's  about  Clara,  of  course,  that  you  want  to 
speak?  " 

"  Of  course.  You  know  that  I  want  to  marry 
her." 

"  I  supposed  so." 

"  Yes.  She  has  known  it  from  the  first.  But 
she  has  been  uncertain." 

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The  Eternal  Spring 

'  Yes,  I  know.  She  has  talked  to  me  about  you. 
Not  lately.  In  fact,  not  much  since  you  came — 
but  before.  She  is  to  marry  you?  " 

"  I  wish  I  knew!  By  turns  I'm  sure  of  it,  and 
then  in  a  flash  everything  seems  uncertain." 

"  Ah — girls  !  If  they  knew  their  own  minds — " 
murmured  Mrs.  Langham  vaguely.  "  Didn't  your 
going  away  bring  her  to  terms?  " 

This  question,  quite  in  her  ordinary  tone,  jarred 
on  Carleton.  He  got  up  nervously  and  changed 
his  seat  for  one  farther  away. 

"  I  didn't  go  with  the  idea  that  it  would,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  willing,  aren't  you,  that  Clara 
should  marry  me?  " 

Mrs.  Langham  held  out  her  cup  to  be  refilled. 

"  Certainly  I  am,"  she  said  deliberately.  "  Else 
I  should  hardly  have  received  you  as  I  have  done. 

.  .  I  don't  pretend  in  any  way  to  dictate 
Clara's  choice  or  to  choose  for  her  in  any  impor- 
tant matter.  She  is  in  most  ways  unusually  mature, 
and  she  knows,  I  believe,  what  she  wants.  But 
certainly  I  approve  of  you,  so  far  as  I  know  you. 
I  know  nothing  against  you.  So  far  as  I  am  able  to 
judge,  I  think  you  are  as  likely  as  anyone  to  make 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Clara  happy — as  we  say.    The  fact  that  she  thinks 
so  is,  of  course,  my  main  reason  for  believing  it." 

"  She  does  think  so?  "  cried  Carleton,  that  last 
sentence  quite  obliterating  the  preceding  ones  of 
cool  commendation. 

'  You  must  know  as  well  as  I,"  Mrs.  Langham 
answered  him.  "  Clara  does  not  make  a  confi- 
dante of  me — but  I  have  certainly  understood  that 
she  thought  so." 

Carleton  gazed  out  at  the  hillside,  on  which  the 
faintly  clouded  sunlight  lay  moist  and  heavy;  his 
eyes  lightened  and  softened  with  wistful  tender- 
ness. 

"  I  hope  I  shall,"  he  said  with  a  slight  tremor 
in  his  voice.  "  It  will  not  be  for  lack  of  trying  if 
I  fail.  .  .  .  Clara  knows  that  I  have  nothing 
very  brilliant  to  offer  her,  in  the  way  of  position 
or  prospects.  Perhaps  you  know,  too,  about  where 
I  stand " 

Mrs.  Langham  nodded. 

"  Clara  is  absolutely  unworldly.  She  really  does 
not  care  for  money  in  the  least.  As  to  position,  it 
would  be  a  burden  and  a  bore  to  her  to  have  to 
keep  up  any  great  amount  of  society.  She  doesn't 

372 


The  Eternal  Spring 

like  it.  She  likes  to  work  at  her  music  and  be 
alone,  and  she  is  indolent.  Decidedly  she  would 
not  be  the  wife  for  a  man  in  official  position,  for 
instance.  ...  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  taste 
you  and  she  are  very  well  suited.  I  cannot  see  why 
she  shouldn't  be  happy." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  If  only  it  depended  solely  on  me,  and  on  her- 
self!  "  Carleton  exclaimed.  "  If  there  were  noth- 
ing definite  just  now  to  make  her  unhappy !  " 

Mrs.  Langham  set  her  cup  down  on  the  table 
with  a  little  clash,  and  frowned. 

"  Clara  makes  herself  unhappy  at  times,"  she 
said  coldly.  "  What  definite  thing  do  you  mean?  " 

"  You  must  know,  Mrs.  Langham.  You  know 
that  she  has  been  made  unhappy  by  a  certain  defi- 
nite thing  in  her  life.  Perhaps  you  don't  know 
that  she  has  threatened  several  times  to  break  with 
me — has  tried  to  do  it — for  that  reason.  Even 
now — even  now  I  do  not  feel  certain  of  her.  She 
seems  uncertain  whether  she  can  marry  me." 

"  Clara  is  capricious,"  Mrs.  Langham  said. 
Her  lowered  eyelids  hid  her  eyes,  and  her  face 
looked  like  a  mask  in  pale  wax.  "  She  has  more 

373 


The  Eternal  Spring 

than  her  share  of  girlish  whims.  But  I  believe  she 
did  not  mean  to  be  taken  at  her  word  when  she 
offered  to  break  with  you." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  this  is  not  whim  or  caprice 
that  troubles  her.  You  know  what  it  is — you 
know  it  is  a  serious  thing — most  serious,  at  least, 
in  its  effect  on  her.  She  has  suffered — she  is  suffer- 
ing. She  even  thinks,  because  of  it,  that  she — that 
she  perhaps  ought  not  to  marry." 

Mrs.  Langham  sat  up  straight,  and  the  frown 
drew  her  black  brows  together. 

"  No,  she  does  not  think  that!  Why,  she  has 
definitely  engaged  herself  to  you — she  has  told  me 
that  she  wishes  to  marry  you !  " 

Carleton  felt  a  pang  of  pleasure ;  but  his  agita- 
tion was  not  lessened. 

"  She  told  me,  too,  that  she  wished — that  she 
would  marry  me  if  she  could,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  But  she  has  never  promised  absolutely, 
without  condition " 

"  She  is  like  many  another  girl  in  fearing  to  bind 
herself,"  Mrs.  Langham  said  quickly.  She  was 
breathing  faster;  the  violet  frills  rose  and 
fell  on  her  bosom.  "  She  would  make  conditions. 

374 


The  Eternal  Spring 

.  .  .  And  I  have  known  her  before  to  use  this 
pretext  to  dismiss  a  man  whom  she  had  encour- 
aged. If  she  uses  it  now,  it  is  because  she  has 
found  that  she  doesn't  care  for  you." 

"  No.  No,  it  isn't  that !  "  he  cried.  "  She  does 
care  for  me — I  am  certain  of  that." 

*  Then,  if  she  does  ...  I  thought  it  was 
all  settled." 

"  No.  Do  you  think  I  should  have  gone  away 
if  it  had  all  been  settled?  I  went  because  this 
uncertainty  was  tormenting  her — was  more  than  I 
could  stand.  .  .  .  See — this  is  the  letter  she 
wrote  me " 

He  carried  it  always  with  him — the  one  letter 
he  had  had  from  her.  He  took  it  out  and  unfolded 
it,  hesitating,  and  then  with  an  appealing  look  gave 
it  to  Mrs.  Langham.  Then  to  relieve  his  uncon- 
trollable nervousness  he  rose  and  walked  the  bal- 
cony from  end  to  end,  while  she  read. 

Her  hand  holding  the  letter  dropped  in  her  lap, 
and  she  stared  out  over  the  railing,  her  face  set 
and  cold.  He  came  back  to  take  the  letter  from 
her,  and  refolded  it  with  jealous  care.  Still  she 
did  not  speak.  But  after  some  moments  she  rose 

375 


The  Eternal  Spring 

abruptly  and  said,  pressing  her  hand  over  her  eyes : 
"  This  glare  is  hurting  my  head.  Do  you  mind 
putting  the  chair  inside?  " 

He  obeyed;  but  she  did  not  sit  down  imme- 
diately. Instead  she  walked  about  in  the  dimmer 
atmosphere  of  the  room,  and  he  heard  her  sigh 
heavily.  He  felt  pity  for  her,  the  more  as  she 
showed  feeling  for  the  first  time  to  him.  He 
waited,  standing  by  the  door  open  on  the  balcony, 
till  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Clara  is  wrong — she  is  mistaken,"  she  said  in 
a  voice  half-stifled.  '  There  is  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  marry.  She  knows  it  is  so — she  talks 
of  marriage — this  is  only  a  mood " 

"  It  is  more  than  a  mood — at  least,  it  is  one  that 
she  cannot  get  away  from,"  he  replied  sombrely. 
"  It  is  perpetually  coming  back — it  seems  to  un- 
derlie all  her  moods — to  be  constantly  in  her 
mind " 

"  She  is  wrong,"  Mrs.  Langham  repeated 
quickly.  '  There  is  no  reason  why  she  should  not 
marry.  There  is  no  good  reason — no  chance — 

she Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  turning  on 

him,  "  that  you  fear  to  marry  her?  " 

376 


'  'She  walked  about  in  the  dimmer  atmosphere  cf  the  room,   and 
he  heard  her  sigh  heavilv. ' ' 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  would  marry  her  to-morrow — even  if  I  knew 
that  what  she  fears  is  true,  that  the  chances  were 
against  her.  Even  if  I  knew  she  was  doomed  I 

would  fight  it  out  with  her "  He  stopped.  Mrs. 

Langham  looked  fixedly  at  him.  He  went  on: 
"  But  she — her  feeling — you  can  see  from  her 
letter " 

'  Yes,  but — but  you  must  persuade  her.  This 
is  a  shadow — she  is  morbid — she  cannot  possibly 
be  affected.  It  was  long  after  her  birth  that — that 
her  father — that  he  developed  that  disease.  She 
could  not — it  could  not  affect  her " 

Carleton  pitied  the  agitated  woman.  She  leaned 
against  the  piano,  her  hands  turning  over  and 
rearranging  a  pile  of  music,  her  face  hidden  from 
him. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  gently.  "  Believe  me,  I 
would  not  hurt  you  if  I  could  help  it.  But  I  can't 
help  it.  It  means  too  much — to  Clara — and  to 
me.  It  may  make  the  difference — it  may  change 
our  whole  lives — I  may  lose  her " 

He  stopped,  unable  for  a  moment  to  go  on. 

"  No,  not  if  she  cares  for  you " 

"  You  can  say  so,  after  that  letter?  " 
377 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  But  you  cam«  back !  You  saw  her  last 
night " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her,  and  she  wept.  She  is  suffer- 
ing— she  will  always  suffer — if  this  must  go  on. 
.  She  said  what  she  says  in  the  letter  about 
the  burden  of  it — her  fear.  And  think !  Even  if 
she  marries  now  she  will  never  dare  to  have  a  child. 
Do  you  see — she  says  it  must  die  with  her " 

"  She  may  be  better  off  without  children,"  said 
Mrs.  Langham  with  intense  bitterness.  "  My 
child  has  not  been  much  comfort  to  me." 

He  ignored  the  last  part  of  her  speech.  "  But 
not  with  the  feeling  that  they  are  unnaturally 
denied  to  her !  "  he  cried.  "  Not  with  the  feeling 
that  she  dare  not !  " 

The  silence  lay  hollow  between  them.  Mrs. 
Langham  at  last  raised  her  arms  and  let  them  fall 
heavily  by  her  sides. 

44  This  has  gone  far  enough,"  she  said.  ;t  We 
cannot  help  it  by  talking.  Clara  must  do  her  best. 
I  have  borne  much  more  than  she  ever  can. 
.  .  .  My  head  ...  I  must  go  and  lie 
down.  .  .  ." 

"  Not  just  yet,"  implored  Carleton.     "  I  must 

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The  Eternal  Spring 

ask  you — I  must  know  certain  things.  You  see 
what  it  means  to  me.  You  must  forgive  me.  I 
want  you  to  read  this,  if  you  will." 

She  took  Crittenden's  letter  from  him  and 
walked  to  the  door  to  read  it.  He  followed  her, 
watching  her  face.  It  flushed  and  darkened  with 
anger  as  she  read  that  blunt,  half-jocular  comment 
on  her  story.  Once  she  crumpled  the  letter  and 
glanced  at  Carleton  in  rage. 

"  Crittenden  —  who  is  he?"  she  demanded 
harshly.  "  What  has  he  to  do  with  this?  " 

"  A  famous  specialist.  I  wrote  to  him  some 
time  ago." 

"  Oh,  you  wrote !  .  .  .  Why  do  you  give 
me  this?  He  says  here  just  what  I  have  been  say- 
ing, exactly — that  she  should  marry,  that  there  is 
no  chance " 

"Have  you  read  it  all — the  last  paragraph?" 

She  read  that,  and  paused,  and  folded  the  letter 
mechanically. 

"  He  says  there  is  no  chanc* — practically  none," 
she  repeated  darkly. 

"Practically!  That  is  just  the  point.  There  is 
a  chance — one  chance  in  a  thousand,  perhaps,  but 

379 


The  Eternal  Spring 

enough  to  darken  her  whole  life,  as  it  has  done.  I 
can't  bear  it!  I  must  do  what  I  can  to  save  her. 
Can't  you  help  me?  " 

She  moved,  turning  her  back  to  the  light  again. 

"  Help  you?    How  can  I?    What  can  I  do?  " 

"  It  is  true,  then,  what  Crittenden  takes  as  the 
unlikely  hypothesis — that  this  insanity  existed — 
that  Clara's  father  did  die  insane?  " 

"  Certainly  he  did." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  haugh- 
tily. 

"  You  see  what  hangs  on  this — on  your  being 
sure,"  Carleton  said  slowly.  "  If  you  were  mis- 
taken, all  this  falls  to  the  ground." 

"  I  could  not  be  mistaken." 

She  faced  him,  pale,  breathing  fast,  looking,  for 
all  her  high  anger,  like  some  creature  hunted  and 
turning  to  make  a  show  of  defence. 


380 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CARLETON  looked  at  her  with  momen- 
tary despair;  with  determination  hard- 
ening as  he  perceived  the  expected 
difficulty. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down — and  listen  to  me?  "  he 
asked.  "  I  can't  keep  you  standing " 

"  I'm  not  well — I  must  go  to  my  room,"  she 
repeated.  "  I  can't — I  can't  go  on  with  this  any 
longer." 

"  But  to-morrow  you  are  going  away — this  is 
my  last  chance  to  see  you.  Surely,  for  Clara's 
sake — !  Surely  you  care  for  her  happiness !  " 

"Of  course  I  care  for  it!  I  care  as  much  as 
anyone." 

"  No,  that's  impossible.  You  can't  care  as  much 
as  I  do,  for  I  care  more  than  all  the  world  for  her." 

"  Yes — love !  I  know  what  it  is !  "  She  laughed 
bitterly.  "  You  would  do  anything  for  her — sac- 
rifice anything — so  you  think.  But  what  it  really 


The  Eternal  Spring 

amounts  to  is  that  she  must  give  up  everything  to 
you !  I  don't  believe  overmuch  in  love." 

"  You  have  had  your  life,"  he  said.  "  Let  her 
have  hers." 

"  My  life !  "  She  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed.  "Yes,  I  have  had  it,  truly!  .  .  . 
My  life  ended  many  years  ago  —  ended  just  as 
much  as  if  I  had  succeeded  in  killing  myself  then, 
as  I  tried  to  do.  Oh,  yes,  I  tried !  And 

now  you're  bringing  it  all  back  to  me.  Is  this  kind  ? 
And  I  have  never  injured  you — I  have  helped  you 
as  much  as  I  could  with  Clara ." 

Carleton  took  her  hands,  drew  her  forward  and 
put  her  gently  into  a  chair.  Her  hands  were  cold, 
she  shivered,  and  two  red  spots  glowed  on  her 
cheeks.  She  looked  haggard,  old,  and  wretched. 
If  she  still  stood  on  her  defence  it  was  in  the  fash- 
ion of  a  creature  knowing  its  own  weakness  and 
expecting  to  be  crushed.  But  she  did  resist.  Carle- 
ton  pressed  on. 

"  Only  one  thing  will  help  me  with  Clara,"  he 
said,  still  gently,  his  face,  with  all  its  kindness, 
showing  the  grim  lines  of  resolution.  "  The 
truth!" 

382 


The  Eternal  Spring 

'  The  truth  I  But  do  you  mean  to  say — do  you 
think  I " 

"  I  do  think  you  have  made  a  mistake,  and  have 
stood  to  it  all  these  years,  but  that  you  can  set  it 
right.  I  think  you  were  mistaken  in  your  idea 
of  insanity — everything  points  that  way  to 
me " 

"  Everything?  But  what  can  you  know  about 
it?  I  am  the  one  person  who  knows  .  .  . 
and  nothing  can  convince  me  that  my  husband  was 
not  insane.  .  .  .  I  see  what  you  mean  about 
Clara — do  you  think  I  haven't  seen  it  before? 
But,  I  repeat,  it  can't  be  of  so  much  importance 
to  her — it  can't  really  affect  her.  .  .  .  And 
in  any  case  it  is  true.  ...  To  shoot  down  an 
unarmed  man,  as  he  did,  without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing— then,  like  a  coward,  not  to  stand  to  his  pun- 
ishment, but  to  leave  all  to  me! " 

She  poured  out  the  words  in  a  strained  voice, 
hardly  above  a  whisper — sitting  bolt  upright  in 
her  chair,  her  hands  clenched  on  the  arms,  her 
eyes  flashing  at  Carleton.  Then  she  collapsed — 
fell  back  in  the  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

383 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  I  know,"  he  murmured.  "  You  loved  him — 
Malaspina." 

He  could  see  her  body  vibrate  to  the  sound.  She 
moved  her  head  slightly. 

"  It  killed  me,"  she  said  hollowly.  "  I  have 
been  as  good  as  dead  since  then.  ...  It  was 
the  act  of  a  madman — you  can't  deny  it!  " 

"  No,  I  can't  deny  it.  It  was  a  mad  act — and 
cowardly.  But  men  have  been  driven  mad  by 
jealousy,  sometimes  by  groundless  jealousy.  There 
are  plenty  of  Othellos — but  Othello  was  not 
insane," 

"What  has  Othello  to  do  with  it?  .  .  . 
My  life  had  been  threatened  before — I  lived  in 
daily  fear  of  an  outbreak.  .  .  .  Mai — Mala- 
spina was  urging  me  to  leave  him.  .  .  .  He 
had  just  gone  out  of  my  sitting-room — all  was 
arranged  for  my  leaving  Mentone  the  next  day — 
when " 

"  You  were  going  to  leave  your  husband,  then? 
And  he  knew  it,  or  suspected  it?  " 

"  He  knew — that  I  was  afraid  of  him.  He 
watched  me — he  may  have  guessed  that  I  in- 
tended  " 

384 


THe  Eternal  Spring 

'  Then  it  is  clear  enough — without  any  need  of 
insanity  for  an  explanation!  He  was  jealous — 
you  were  arranging  with  Malaspina  to  leave 
him " 

"  Not  '  with.'  He — Malaspina — helped  me 
because  he  saw  I  was  in  danger " 

;'  Very  well;  but  it  comes  to  the  same  thing — 
or  would,  in  the  mind  of  a  jealous  man.  But  this 
'  danger  ' — wasn't  that,  too,  connected  with  Mala- 
spina ?  Your  husband  disliked  Malaspina — wanted 
you  to  dismiss  him — you  refused — he  threatened 
you » 

She  looked  at  Carleton  in  dull  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  that's  true.  He  threatened  me — and 
once — he  struck  me.  It  was  then  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  go." 

"  And  this  quarrel  —  this  threat  —  were  on 
account  of  Malaspina?" 

"You  ask  .  .  .?  Yes,  they  were.  But  he 
was  unjust  to  me — all  his  violence — there  was  no 
reason " 

"  No  reason,  perhaps — but  some  excuse  for  his 
jealousy.  You  admit  there  was  some  excuse.  You 
didn't  care  for  him.  You  did  love  Malaspina." 

385 


The  Eternal  Spring 

She  stared  straight  before  her,  and  her  breast 
rose  and  fell  noiselessly  again  and  again. 

"  Why  am  I  talking  to  you  like  this?     .     .     . 

I    did    love    him.     .     .     .     Yes,    I    loved   him. 

I    loved    him.     ...     And    he    was 

killed    all    in    a    moment     .     .     .     shot    down 

.     no     chance     to     defend     himself,     to 

speak     .     .     ." 

She  sobbed  tearlessly. 

"  Was  that  a  thing  for  a  sane  man  to  do?  And 
you  ask  me  to  believe  that  he  was  sane?  You  say 
that  I  had  given  him  an  excuse — a  reason  for  what 
he  did?  .  .  .  You  are  all  cruel,  you  men,  and 
blind!  .  .  .  You  talk  to  me,  and  pretend  to 
sympathise  with  me,  and  make  me  talk  to  you — 
and  then  you  turn  round  on  me  and  say  that  I  am 
responsible !  I  am  not — he  was  raving  crazy — I 
will  swear  to  it " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  Carleton  rose,  too. 

"  I  can  prove  that  he  was  not,"  he  said. 

'  You  can  prove -?  " 

"  I  have  some  evidence,  and  I  can  get  more.  I 
know  that  he  had  no  hereditary  taint;  and  you 
know  that,  too." 

386 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  How  do  you  know?    You " 

"  I  have  been  making  enquiries,  of  course,  and 
I  shall  make  a  great  many  more  before  I  admit 
your  statement.  I  know  that  up  to  the  time  of 
your  leaving  Baltimore  and  coming  abroad  to  live 
no  one  had  ever  suspected  Mr.  Langham  of  mental 
unsoundness.  That's  true,  isn't  it?  " 

"Well— if  it  is ?" 

"  I  have  expert  opinion  that  homicidal  mania 
does  not  develop  without  some  hereditary  taint,  or 
illness,  with  well-defined  symptoms,  without  some 
delusion.  There  was  no  hereditary  taint  in  his 
case;  there  were  no  symptoms,  except  a  possibly 
exaggerated  jealousy;  there  was  no  delusion — for 
it  wasn't  a  delusion  that  you  loved  another  man, 
and  that  you  were  ready  to  leave  your  husband. 
You've  said  it." 

Her  face  was  set  in  bitter  lines. 

"  You  turn  my  confidence  against  me.  I  might 
have  known  it." 

"  No.  I  am  only  trying  to  show  you  a  way  out 
of  all  this  trouble." 

"  A  way  out?    What  way?  " 

"  Simply  that  you  admit  your  error.  You  see — 
387 


The  Eternal  Spring 

you  must  see — that  you  can't  maintain  it  any 
longer.  ...  I  can  understand  well  enough 
how  you  came  to  make  it.  You  were  distracted, 
you  were  crushed,  your  life  had  been  ruined,  you 
were  in  despair ;  you  felt  that  this  blow  was  unjust, 
that  it  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  what  had  caused 
it " 

"  Yes — it  was,  it  was,"  she  whispered. 

"  And  you  seized  on  the  explanation  that  saved 
you  from  the  load  of  blame — and  no  doubt  it 
seemed  to  you  the  true  one." 

"  Yes." 

"  For  a  long  time  it  was  not  questioned  openly 
— and  you  became  accustomed  to  it,  so  that  to  have 
it  questioned  was  like  striking  at  you." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  when  it  comes  to  the  point  that  you  see 
its  terrible  effect  on  other  people — on  the  person 
who  is  nearest  to  you  in  the  world — you  instinct- 
ively cling  to  it,  because  you  created  it,  and  it  seems 
almost  like  a  part  of  you.  And  yet  it's  a  delusion 
— it's  false — you  have  deluded  yourself  and  helped 
to  delude  others.  It  has  no  real  life.  You  must 
help  to  take  away  the  life  you've  given  it.  You 

388 


The  Eternal  Spring 

must  take  your  share  of  responsibility  for  what  is 
past  and  gone." 

She  was  silent.  She  put  one  hand  on  the  piano- 
case  for  support.  He  could  guess  nothing  from 
her  face. 

"  See,  it  won't  be  hard,"  he  said  still  more  gently. 
"  It  would  be  infinitely  harder  for  you  to  keep  up 
the  other  thing.  For  you  would  have  to  prove 
your  side  against  me.  And  I  should  fight !  " 

"Prove?     Fight?     How?" 

"  I  would  never  leave  you  in  peace.  I'd  follow 
you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  You'd  have  to  say  it 
sooner  or  later." 

'  To  say  what?    What  would  satisfy  you?  " 

"  To  say  what  you  did.  What  it  was,  in  those 
last  days  at  Mentone,  that  drove  your  husband  to 
do  what  he  did.  .  .  .  There  is  something  you 
haven't  told  me." 

His  eyes,  burning  with  the  intensity  of  his  will, 
fixed  hers,  and  his  voice,  still  gentle  in  tone,  had  a 
ring  of  hardness  that  came  of  his  self-restraint. 

"  Tell  me — it  shall  be  known  only  to  Clara." 

"Clara!" 

"  She  must  know,  of  course.     It's  the  only  thing 

389 


The  Eternal  Spring 

that  will  save  her.     You  do  it  to  save  her  from 
suffering." 

"  I've  made  her  suffer,  you  say!  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  can  end  it." 

"  No — I  can't  end  it.  She  will  have  all  this  to 
think  of — as  I've  had.  She — perhaps  she  won't 
care  less  for  me,  for  she  never  cared  for  me, 
but " 

"  I'll  take  her  away.  She  will  have  a  new  life, 
new  interests.  She'll  forget — at  least,  it  will  be 
past " 

"  Yes,  that's  best.  Take  her  away.  ...  I 
don't  know  why  you're  waiting  now.  Haven't  you 
tormented  me  enough?  " 

"  I  want  you  only  to  tell  me — what  you  haven't 
yet  told  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you — and  then  you'll  leave  me  in 
peace?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you — though  it's  not  such  a  tre- 
mendous thing.  .  .  .  Langham  knew  that  I 
was  going  to  leave  him — we  had  a  fearful  quarrel 
about  it — he  could  not  bear  that  I  should  separate 

from  him " 

390 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"For  Malaspina?" 

"Yes  ...  yes  ...  And  I  could 
not  get  a  divorce  ...  he  could  not  marry  a 
divorced  woman  .  .  .  Giulio  .  .  .  but 
I  was  going.  .  .  .  Now,  go — leave  me  alone." 

She  began  to  sob,  and  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  face. 

"  That's  enough  .  .  .  I'll  tell  Clara.  And 
you — will  you  tell  her  that  I — am  to " 

"Ah,  she'll  believe!     ..." 

"  But  you'll  speak  to  her — you'll  say  some- 
thing  " 

"  I'll  write  it  to  her.  And  then  I  want  not  to 
see  her  for — for  a  time — a  year,  two  years — I 
don't  know  when  I  can  see  her! — Elizabeth  will 

take  her — and  you,  she  marries  you But  be 

sure — "  She  made  a  step  forward  and  seized 
Carleton's  arm  in  a  fierce  grasp.  "  Be  sure  that 
she  loves  you !  It  won't  do  for  you  only  to  love  her ! 
Be  sure  that  she  loves  you !  I  shall  write 
that  to  her.  .  .  .  'Be  sure  that  you  love  him, 
or  you  may  go  to  wreck  and  ruin !  '  .  .  ." 

She  caught  her  breath,  released  him,  pushed  him 
away. 

391 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  There,  go !  .  .  .  And  you  can  write  to 
me.  Tell  me  if  you  are  happy.  ...  If  not, 
don't  write.  .  .  .  Good-bye ! " 

She  turned  from  him  with  a  whirl  and  flare  of 
her  purple  draperies ;  and  putting  her  hands  to  her 
head,  clasping  the  waves  of  black  hair,  burying  her 
fingers  in  them,  she  rushed  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TO  the  tumult  of  the  next  day  quiet  suc- 
ceeded— a  quiet  that  seemed  strange  and 
at  first  was  hardly  realised.  Mrs.  Lang- 
ham  had  departed;  the  Contessa  and  Francesca 
were  installed  in  Clara's  house.  Clara  had  given  her 
consent  to  go  to  England,  and  Carleton  had  sent  a 
wire  to  Elizabeth,  with  some  wonder  at  the  fate 
that  was  to  give  Clara  to  him  from  Elizabeth's 
hands.  He  began  to  breathe  again.  But  one  and 
all  of  this  small  group  of  people  that  had  been 
shaken  by  the  storm  now  past  moved  as  yet  in  a 
hushed  fashion,  and  drew  their  breath  in  pain. 
The  harshness  of  the  world,  its  chances,  its  judg- 
ments, had  touched  them  too  nearly  for  any  present 
rejoicing. 

The  one  whom  it  touched  most  nearly  was 
watched  by  the  other  three  with  solicitude  in  pro- 
portion to  their  feeling  for  her.  Her  quiet,  her 
grave  face,  and  wish  for  solitude,  were  natural 

393 


The  Eternal  Spring 

enough,  and  they  let  her  alone.  She  went  about 
among  them,  talked  a  little  about  the  trivial  mat- 
ters of  the  day,  and  said  nothing  about  what  was 
in  the  minds  of  all.  The  short  letter  left  for  her 
by  her  mother,  and  Carleton's  careful  explanation, 
she  had  taken  almost  in  silence.  Gravely  and 
unemotionally  she  had  agreed  with  him  that  it  was 
best  to  go  to  England  and  to  be  married  early  in 
September,  less  than  a  month  away.  They  had 
discussed  various  plans  for  "  afterwards."  Carle- 
ton  suggested  America  for  a  year  to  begin  with, 
and  she  agreed  to  that  also.  He  offered  to  go  in 
for  any  kind  of  life  that  she  thought  would  interest 
her.  If  she  wanted  more  money,  he  thought  he 
could  get  it  for  her.'  She  smiled,  and  said  she 
could  tell  better  after  a  year's  trial  as  they  were. 
Her  piano  remained  closed.  She  was  com- 
pletely inexpressive  and  quite  idle.  She  wanted  to 
be  always  out  of  doors,  and  would  walk  by  the 
hour,  with  Carleton  or  Francesca,  almost  in  silence. 
If  she  was  asked  what  she  was  thinking  about,  she 
smiled  and  said  she  wasn't  thinking  at  all.  Carle- 
ton,  watching  her,  thought  she  was  like  some  deli- 
cate plant  that  had  been  crushed  down  by  a  chance 

394 


The    Eternal    Spring 

footstep,  and  was  slowly  raising  its  bruised  leaves 
again.  She  seemed  to  him  like  the  sensitive  grass 
he  had  seen  in  the  East  which  shrank  away  from 
him  as  he  approached,  before  he  had  come  near 
enough  to  touch  it. 

She  did  shrink  from  him  in  the  first  few  days 
after  Mrs.  Langham's  departure.  He  saw  that 
she  feared  any  show  of  emotion.  She  wanted  to  be 
perfectly  quiet.  And  when  he  met  her  wish  she 
rewarded  him  by  drawing  near  him  again,  not  in 
speech,  or  caress,  or  look,  but  in  spirit  subtly;  so 
that  he  felt  her  confidence  in  him  once  more  com- 
plete, and  could  wait  patiently  for  the  rest. 

Day  by  day  she  gave  him  more.  Slowly  she 
emerged  from  her  retreat,  cautiously  raised  her 
head.  She  was  to  go  to  England  with  Lucie  in  ten 
days'  time.  Carleton  had  wanted  to  travel  with 
her,  but  she  said  that  in  view  of  Elizabeth's  kind- 
ness they  must  do  in  every  way  as  she  had  sug- 
gested, and  Carleton  reluctantly  acquiesced. 

"  She  is  very  good,"  Clara  had  then  said  dream- 
ily. "  What  should  I  do  if  she  had  not  offered  to 
take  me  in?  You  would  have  had  to  marry  me 
out  of  the  street  almost!  " 

395 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"  My  dearest  child!  "  he  cried. 

"  She  is  very  good  to  me,"  she  went  on,  unheed- 
ing him,  "  and  all  the  more  when  you  think  what 
I  did.     I  took  you  away  from  her.    Yes 
don't  try  to  deny  it.      ...      I  did. 
And  I'm  not  sorry,  either!     I'm  sorry  for  her — 
for  she  did  care  for  you,  Barry.     But  I'm  glad  I 
robbed  her!" 

To  this  glimpse  of  Clara's  enchanting  self  he 
responded  in  joy,  that  instantly  she  made  him 
restrain. 

'  You're  good  to  me,  too,"  she  said  softly,  her 
eyes  making  their  pure  appeal  of  trust  in  him. 
She  took  his  hand  in  both  hers  and  put  it  against 
her  cheek,  a  grave  yet  childlike  caress. 

That  she  did  trust  him  perfectly  each  new 
expression  of  her  feeling  showed.  He  saw  with  a 
strange  mingling  of  acute  pain  and  pleasure  that 
she  turned  to  him  alone  now  out  of  all  the  world. 
She  clung  to  him.  So  should  it  be,  so  and  no  other- 
wise would  he  have  it,  and  yet  the  feeling  of  her 
loneliness  hurt  him.  That  she  felt  it,  and  made 
her  mute  appeal  to  him  out  of  it,  and  leaned  to 
him  with  submissive  softness,  like  a  friendless  child, 

396 


The  Eternal  Spring 

moved  him  so  much  that  perhaps  it  was  more  pain 
than  anything  else.  Yet  when  she  showed  her 
physical  nearness  to  him,  when  her  hand  rested  in 
his,  as  she  chose  it  to  do  more  and  more  constantly 
when  they  were  alone  together;  when  she  leaned 
against  his  shoulder  or  clung  to  his  arm,  joy  made 
all  else  forgotten.  Her  caresses  were  shy;  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  could  not  be  too  gentle  with 
her.  The  breath  of  a  kiss  on  her  temple,  her 
cheek,  her  hair,  he  ventured  now  and  then.  She 
set  the  note  and  set  it  to  this  pitch. 

The  days  slipped  by,  and  she  began  to  show  a 
soft  regret  at  leaving  this  nook  among  the  hills, 
and  perhaps  at  interrupting  their  quiet  companion- 
ship, the  reticence  of  which  had  its  own  peculiar 
charm.  It  was  the  still  pause  of  the  full  stream 
before  the  leap.  She  faced  the  leap  calmly,  yet 
showed  some  desire  to  linger  on  these  last  hours. 

Signs  of  change  were  over  all  the  country  about 
them.  The  autumnal  ripening  was  advanced,  the 
gathering  of  the  hill  harvests  begun.  Autumnal 
gold  everywhere  lightened  the  deep  green  of  sum- 
mer. The  chestnuts  caught  a  golden  glimmer  on 
the  spines  of  their  full  burrs,  the  grape-vines  ran 

397 


The  Eternal  Spring 

everywhere  in  lines  of  gold.  Fields  shorn  of  their 
crops  showed  yellow  stubble,  and  the  mounds  of 
shining  hay  grew  higher  and  higher.  The  voices 
of  the  streams  had  sunk  to  a  minor  note,  the  rivers 
ran  in  diminished  volume  through  their  pebble- 
beds.  The  whirr  of  the  locusts  sounded  a  perpet- 
ual drowsy  undertone;  small,  vivid  green  snakes 
swarmed  in  the  grass  and  on  the  roads;  crowds  of 
white  butterflies  danced  in  the  sun.  The  sky  took 
on  a  deeper,  more  purple  tinge,  the  nights  grew 
colder,  and  a  warning  chill  breathed  from  the 
woodland  depths. 

One  afternoon,  almost  the  last  they  were  to  have 
here  together,  they  had  come  back  from  a  long  walk 
through  the  forest,  and  paused  at  a  spot  above  the 
hotel  to  watch  the  setting  of  the  evening  star.  The 
place  was  a  small,  grassy  terrace,  walled  with 
stone,  and  called  Due  Fontane  from  two  springs 
that  gushed  out  through  the  wall  into  a  stone  basin. 
From  it  they  looked  down  into  the  valley,  where 
the  stream  caught  a  line  of  light  from  the  clear 
sky,  and  over  innumerable  hill-slopes,  some  col- 
oured by  the  sunset,  some  deep  in  shadow,  all 

398 


The  Eternal  Spring 

painted  mysteriously  by  the  gathering  veils  of 
twilight  folds  of  blue  vapour  rising  and  drifting 
across  them.  The  smell  of  wood-smoke  was  in  the 
air,  sweet  with  all  the  sweetness  of  the  earth  that 
has  peacefully  yielded  its  harvest  and  is  left  to 
repose. 

The  large  star  hung  in  the  west,  above  the  shoul- 
der of  the  dark,  wooded  hill,  its  light  almost  lost 
for  a  time  in  the  radiance  of  the  sky,  but  every 
moment  shining  out  more  clearly. 

Clara  sat  on  the  wall,  Carleton  stood  beside  her, 
his  arm  half  encircling  her,  and  she  leaned  lightly 
against  his  shoulder.  Their  day  had  been  a  happy 
one.  She  had  been  content,  almost  gay,  again. 
She  had  sung,  for  the  first  time  in  weeks ;  and  now 
she  was  humming  over  the  melody  that  she  had 
set  to  the  Dirge  in  "  Cymbeline  "  : 

"  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 
Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages !  " 

It  had  a  quiet,  lulling  sweetness  that  suited  her 
mood  and  the  mood  of  the  evening.  Her  eyes 
reflected  the  clear  and  peaceful  light  of  the  west 
as  she  looked  dreamily  over  the  valley;  she  had 
the  listening  look  that  showed  her  deep  pleasure  in 

399 


The  Eternal  Spring 

all  this  beauty  of  line,  and  colour,  and  murmuring 
sound.  In  her  hand  was  a  bunch  of  scarlet  flowers, 
pulled  from  a  deserted  garden  they  had  passed, 
and  she  had  put  one  flower  in  the  black  knot  of 
her  hair,  just  behind  her  ear.  Carleton  gazed  and 
gazed  at  her,  moving  slightly  a  little  away  from 
her,  to  see  her  the  better. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  At  a  mystery 
-you." 

"Am  I  a  mystery?    Why?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you  why.  Can  you  tell  me  why 
you're  so  beautiful?  " 

"  I'm  not  beautiful.  I  have  only  an  effect  of 
beauty  now  and  then.  But  I  hypnotise  people  Into 
thinking  I  am,  because  I  want  so  much  to  be 
thought  so.  I  am  frightfully  vain !  " 

"  You  have  bewitched  me,  then.  I  thought  so, 
when  I  first  felt  your  spell." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  thought  of  me,  just  at  first ! 
Do  you  know  what  I  thought  of  you?  " 

"  No — tell  me.    I  can  bear  it  now." 

"  I  should  think  you  might.  I  thought  you 
amazingly  good-looking !  " 

400 


'  'Do  you  think  we're  too  happy f" ,  she  asked  after  a  moment  in 
a  hushed  voice. ' ' 


The  Eternal  Spring 

"Good  heavens!     Why?" 

"Why?  Because  you  looked  so  strong  and 
quiet " 

"  Oh,  it  was  moral  beauty,  then,  that  you  saw 
in  me?  You  must  have  been  thinking  Whitman: 
*  I  could  turn  and  live  with  animals,  they  are  so 
placid  and  self-contained — not  one  is  respectable 
or  unhappy  over  the  whole  earth ! ' 

Clara  struck  his  cheek  with  her  bunch  of  flow- 
ers, and  his  arm  went  round  her  again  and  drew 
her  close. 

'  You  must  always  like  me  as  much  as  you  do 
now,"  she  said. 

"  Never  fear — I  shall  like  you  too  much." 

"  But  it  must  be  for  always!  Love  me  little, 
love  me  long !  " 

"  For  always." 

"  Why  do  I  believe  everything  you  say?  I 
never  felt  so  to  anyone  before — but  it  seems  to  me 
you  are  true  as  steel  and  clear  as  the  sunlight! 
Your  eyes  are  so  honest — dear  blue  eyes!  You 
never  deceived  anyone  or  hurt  anyone,  did  you? 
.  .  .  I  love  you !  " 

She  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  put  her 
401 


The  Eternal  Spring 

face  against  his  cheek.  Barry  held  her  close.  She 
felt  his  breast  tremble;  a  tear  rolled  down  his 
cheek  and  touched  hers. 

She  started,  and  moved  a  little  away  from  him. 

"  Do  you  think  we're  too  happy?"  she  asked 
after  a  moment  in  a  hushed  voice.  "  Perhaps 
something  will  happen  to  us — we  shall  have  to  pay 
for  it.  I'm  a  pagan,  you  know,  and  I  fear  the 
gods.  I  think  they're  jealous  gods.  Shall  we 
sacrifice  something  to  them?" 

"  Don't,  Clara,  dearest !  This  happiness  is  ours 
— it  can't  be  taken  from  us !  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  can !  How  easily  they  could  take 
it !  I'm  afraid  of  them,  I  tell  you  .  .  ." 

She  was  silent,  and  he. 

But  the  silence  and  his  clasp  of  her  were  elo- 
quent— eloquent  of  the  deep  current  that  moved 
these  straws  of  speech.  Clara  felt  it,  swayed  to 
it  and  to  him,  to  his  kiss.  .  .  . 

Then  she  drew  herself  away,  and  with  warm 
eyes  and  lips  put  the  space  of  words  between  them. 

"  How  beautiful  the  world  is !  "  she  murmured 
vaguely,  passionately.  "How  beautiful!  And 
how  sad — the  tragedy  of  it,  the  tragedy  of  life ! 

402 


The  Eternal  Spring 

Her  voice  was  tragic  and  shaken;  but  it  trem- 
bled not  from  the  feeling  of  the  tragedy  of  life. 
The  deep  current  ran  and  murmured  in  the  hearts 
of  both.  Its  music  was  joy,  hope,  the  song  of  youth 
and  love. 

"  Beautiful!  "  he  said.     "  Life  is  anything  you 
may   say   of   it      .      .      .      everything.     .     . 
Look,  Clara,  see  the  star  there!      See  how  the 
shoulder  of  the  earth  swings  up  to  it!     .     .     . 
Can't  you  feel  the  earth  turn  as  you  look?  " 

Cheek  to  cheek  they  watched  the  dark,  wooded 
line  of  the  hill  rise  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  star. 

"How  small  we  are!  What  a  pair  of  tiny 
atoms!"  murmured  Clara.  "And  all  this  vast- 
ness  about  us !  .  .  .  And  yet  we  live  and  are 
happy,  and  nothing  else  seems  to  matter  .  .  ." 

The  dark  line  touched  the  star.  It  sparkled  for 
a  moment  through  the  dotted  row  of  trees;  it  was 
gone.  Their  eyes  dwelt  on  the  spot  where  a 
moment  since  it  had  seemed  to  be;  glowing  with 
the  light  that  has  lit  all  happy  lovers'  eyes,  looking 
on  the  fair  earth  or  heaven,  since  the  world  began. 


403 


The  Folly  of 
Others 

With   Pictures   by   Horace  T.  Carpenter 
$1.00  postpaid 

"Without  exaggeration,  there  is  enough  human  nature 
within  the  small  covers  of  The  Folly  of  Others  to  supply  a 
dozen  more  pretentious  efforts  of  the  day  with  a  vitalizing 
effort." — St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

"Modern,  alert,  oftentimes  piquant  and  spirited,  straight- 
forward, delicately  touched  with  sentiment,  these  short 
stories  and  sketches  offer  interesting  glimpses  of  romance 
and  reality.  There  is  the  condensation,  the  elision  of  super- 
fluous explanations,  the  confidence  in  the  reader's  intelli- 
gence, which  characterize  the  best  short  stories.  Beyond 
that  there  is  variety  of  type  and  originality." — The  Reader. 

"Neith  Boyce,  who  is  best  known  as  author  of  The 
Forerunner,  has  gathered  together  a  number  of  her  clever 
short  stories  under  the  title  of  The  Folly  of  Others.  They 
include  eight  little  sketches  and  one  fairly  long  novelette. 
They  are  all  marked  with  the  same  careful  workmanship, 
the  same  subtle  recognition  of  the  potent  influence  exerted 
by  the  little  things  of  life." — Collier's  Weekly. 


Tox  ~2>uffiel6       (To. 


b?  Meitt) 


The  Forerunner 

A  Novel  $1-50  postpaid 

"One  need  not  belong  to  the  order  of  quadrumana  to  be 
able  to  count  the  excellent  novels  of  a  season  on  one's 
fingers,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  hit  upon  nine  better  stories 
than  this  one  by  Neith  Boyce  (Mrs.  Hutchins  Hapgood). 
Trollope  was  especially  pleased  with  Hawthorne's  compli- 
ment to  his  fiction,  when  the  great  romancer  said  in  effect 
that  a  novel  of  Trollope's  seemed  a  great  piece  of  English 
ground,  cut  off  with  all  its  houses,  fields,  woodlands,  roads 
and  inhabitants,  and  placed  under  glass  for  the  delectation  of 
the  observer.  A  somewhat  similar  compliment  would  hardly 
be  extravagant  in  the  case  of  The  Forerunner."  —  Vogue, 
New  York. 

"It  is  a  genuine  pleasure,  once  in  a  while,  to  come  across 
such  a  sincere,  frank,  and  convincing  study  of  married  life 
as  we  find  in  this  story  of  The  Forerunner.  Few  first 
novels  have  the  quality  of  this  book,  the  clear  grasp  of 
personalities,  the  definite  and  sustained  purpose."  —  Globe  and 
Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 

"Full  of  energy  and  enterprise,  a  chronicle  of  active  de- 
velopments rather  than  a  study  in  souls.  Novels  of  this 
sort  have  no  time  for  persiflage;  their  interest  is  simply 
human.  The  modern  American  novel  is  two  parts  biography 
from  the  life.  The  Forerunner  depicts  a  national  type;  a 
robust,  pushing  and  unsentimental  type,  dull  of  impulse,  but 
extremely  practical  and  calculating."  —  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 


Tox 


"Neith  Boyce  is  a  new  name  on  the  literary  roll  call, 
but  if  future  efforts  rise  to  the  level  of  the  present  sample 
of  his,  or  her,  work,  any  book  bearing  that  name  will  be 
eagerly  welcomed.  Daniel  Devin,  the  central  figure  in  this 
vigorous  yarn,  is  as  absolutely  real  as  it  is  possible  to  depict 
a  man  with  pen  and  ink.  Devin's  wife  Anna  is  a  startling 
picture  of  a  handsome,  discontented  woman,  in  love  with 
her  husband's  success,  rather  than  with  the  man  himself. 
Throughout  the  book  there  are  vividly  contrasted  pictures. 
The  story  is  brimming  with  life,  movement  and  delicate 
studies  of  temperament."— The  Philadelphia  Item. 

"The  reader  does  not  realize  until  the  last  page  is  reached 
that  there  has  been  no  plot,  strictly  speaking.  The  secret 
lies  in  the  clever  handling  of  the  character  studies  and  the 
easy,  readable  style,  which  attracts  and  holds  the  attention 
from  first  to  last.  There  is  no  superfluous  delineation  or 
embarrassment  of  detail,  yet  each  actor  in  this  human, 
realistic  drama  becomes  incarnated  in  the  flesh  by  the  magic 
of  some  mystic  incantation  at  the  author's  disposal." — 
Buffalo  Evening  News. 

"A  novel  of  power  is  The  Forerunner,  by  Neith  Boyce. 
The  hero  is  a  man  we  admire  greatly;  strong  with  the 
strength  that  kills,  loving  action  for  itself,  and  money  solely 
for  what  it  can  buy.  With  the  same  energy  he  puts  into 
work,  he  loves  a  woman  unable  to  understand  his  aims  and 
ambitions,  selfish,  yet  not  wholly  to  blame.  Day  by  day 
the  catastrophe  approaches;  each  attracts  it  onward  in  a 
vain  endeavor  to  ward  it  off;  fate  has  brought  two  strong 
natures  together  without  giving  them  a  chance  to  under- 
stand one  another,  and  they  are  powerless  before  the  ap- 
proaching doom." — Chicago  Tribune. 


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